Prodigy
by ChipmonkOnSpeed
Summary: AU- Given up after that fateful night, a prodigious Harry Potter ends up in America, working as a Lab Tech/Federal Agent. Now his family wants him back, but can he trust their motives? Can he trust his own? Multiple crossovers, list in 1st chapter.
1. Five Years in Five Minutes

**Story: Prodigy**

**By: ChipmonkOnSpeed**

**Chapter: Five Years in Five Minutes**

**This will be a: HarryPotter/CSI/Grey's-Anantomy/House/Law-and-Order-SVU/Numb3rs/Psych/NCIS/Burn-Notice/CSI-Miami Crossover fic.**

* * *

**Aug. 28, 2001**

The young boy walked through the school, not bothered by the fact that he was seven years younger than the next youngest person on the entire campus. He was supposed to get to the class registration, but he could not find it. They really needed to hand out maps, or something. They could not expect people to just _know_ where everything was.

A girl walked up to him, and she stood at least five inches taller than he was. She put her hands on her knees, and bent foreword so she was eyelevel.

"Are you lost, little boy? You do know that this is a university, not an elementary school, right?" she asked. The boy, Harry James Potter, nodded.

"Yes to both. I need to find the class registration. I'm here to study human genetics. I plan to minor in applied mathematics," Harry said. The girl's eyes widened almost comically.

"How old are you, kid?" she asked. Harry smiled.

"I turned eleven last month," said Harry. She was silent for almost a minute, just staring at him. She pointed out the class registration, looking dazed.

Harry heard her as he walked by her and her friends, and he smiled to himself. "That kid is eleven, and he's here to major in genetics!!"

Harry continued walking around, finding the campus up to his low standards, and way beyond.

Harry had been sent to an orphanage when he was fifteen months old, and declared a prodigy by the time he was three. He had finished high school by the time he was ten, and at eleven, he was starting to work towards his career as a Criminalist.

Harry finished his major, and several minors, including chemistry and mathematics, by the time he was thirteen. He was recruited by the Las Vegas Crime Lab to work as a Criminalist, as he had always dreamed.

* * *

**Jul. 31, 2006**

"Hey, James, could you run this through trace for me?" James, formally known as Harry, caught the plastic evidence bag deftly. He looked up at the dark haired man walking away.

"What are you going to do when one day I say 'no', Stokes?" James asked. The man, Nick Stokes, shrugged, but didn't turn around. James started on identifying the blue fibers Nick had thrown at him, when he felt someone staring at him. He turned to see his supervisor, who didn't look very happy. "Hello!"

"Forty hours a week. That is your limit, and you know it. How many hours did you work last week?" Gil Grissom asked. James thought for a second.

"Sixty five and three fourths," he replied. Before the other man could speak, James continued. "But the case was solved, so it's all good."

"Don't let it happen again. You're going to get our lab shut down, if you keep that up. What are you working on?" Grissom asked. James looked down at the results of the tests.

"Nothing, I'm done. These were the fibers found on the latest victim's right canine. It is actually blue silk, unique to European silk shirts. Imports are rare and expensive," James said. At that moment, Sara Sidle walked in, apparently rushed.

She also tossed something at James. "Jamie, run this through AFIS for me. Thanks, kid," she said, and rushed out. James picked up the fingerprint, and sighed.

"What am I, hired help?" James called after her. She didn't even shrug. Harry continued grumbling, and Grissom chuckled.

"That's what you get for being every ones little brother," Grissom said.

"That's what I get for being so charming," James muttered.

"Nearly three years, you've worked here, and I've yet to see this 'charm' you speak of so often," Grissom said. James turned and glared at him.

"You need to get going, Grissom. I'm wearing the white coat, okay? Go, get," James ordered. Grissom raised his hands in surrender, and left the room.

James shook his head, and continued with the fingerprint. No matches, at all. James growled in frustration, having nothing to pin a murder on anyone. James kicked the nearest filing cabinet. Then his toe started to hurt.

"Fuck it!" he yelled. Catherine Willows walked in, looking exhausted.

"I don't have the energy, so scold yourself for that, will you? Do you have the fingerprint results yet?" Catherine asked. James sighed, sitting in his lab chair, and spinning idly.

"I ran it through the system, and nothing; absolutely nothing. Do you have anything else?" James asked, stopping his spinning to look her in the eye.

"No, not yet. Do you have a girlfriend?" Catherine returned.

"Girlfriends involve social lives, and those are for people with nothing better to do," James replied, smirking. Catherine rolled her eyes.

"Will you work on that, please? Date someone, or go outside once in a while? We're in Vegas, Jamie, certainly you, as an almost sixteen year old boy, could find something to do," Catherine said. James rolled his eyes.

"Now why would I do that?" he asked. "I've been on one date. I ended up spending two hours doodling Punnett Squares, trying to find out exactly what her parents looked like. My frat party days are over, Catherine," James said. Catherine raised an eyebrow.

"You were in a fraternity? I can't imagine. . ."

"Hardy, har, har. Yes, I was in a fraternity. I pledged Sigma Pi. So, now I'm almost sixteen, a member of a fraternity, and I have a Masters Degree in Human Genetics. Oh, don't forget the PhD! I am just the bachelor of the year, now aren't I?" James asked, rolling his eyes. Catherine glared lightly.

"Robbins wants you, within the hour, by the way," Catherine said, quite mysteriously, walking out of the room.

James sighed, leaning back in his lab chair. He looked around his work area, examining it once again. The walls were mostly glass, so James could see around the entire lab pretty clearly. Warrick and Nick were sitting around the light table, looking at different maps of the area, and having themselves a fine little argument.

Sara was on a computer, most likely trying to link the suspect to the victim. James looked back and saw Warrick and Nick gone, only to find Sara leaving the lab, too. Looking at the clock, James noticed it was almost the end of his shift.

James sighed and stretched. He stood up to meet Doc Robbins in the Death Lair, as James had named it. The first time James had been in the room, Robbins had been talking animatedly to the corpse. James had been creeped out since then. Dead bodies, yes, he could deal with that. Weird old men _talking_ to dead bodies? No. Absolutely not at all.

When James opened the door, there was no light on. That worried James, beyond belief. Suddenly the light came on, and twenty people jumped out at him.

"SURPRISE!" they yelled. James breath caught in his throat.

"Holy mother of science," James muttered.

"Happy birthday, James!" everyone yelled. A pile of presents lay on the autopsy table.

"Birthday? Today is. . . _July thirty first! _I forgot my own birthday. Wow. Man, that's sad," James said.

An few minutes later, Nick and Warrick ran up to James. "Come on, kid! Let's go!" Warrick said, grabbing his left elbow.

"Drivers license time, kid! Sixteen!" Nick grabbed James' right elbow. He was led out of the lab, stripped of his lab coat on the way out.

Four hours later, James had a brand new driver's license and an earful of insults for his given name.

"Harry? Three years, I've known you, and never once did you tell me your name is Harry?" Nick asked.

"I had a choice between the name Harry, and the name of my father, who put my up for adoption at fifteen months old, simply because I was a disappointment. I went with James, stands out less, you know," James said. "My parents kept my twin, I was out in an orphanage, it was determined I was a prodigy, and I was brought to America. Any other details of my life you want?" James asked.

Nick, who was driving the car, turned to look at him.

"NICK! Watch the ROAD!" James yelled. Nick snapped around, hitting the brake as soon as he saw the big rig about to crash into them from the side.

"SHIT!" Warrick yelled, as James yelled, "FUCK!"

The big rig slammed into the front of the Denali, and James' neck snapped to the right, in a painful manner. He suddenly felt weightless, and blood was rushing to his head. The world went utterly black, and James welcomed the unconscious world.

James heard an annoying beeping noise, waking him up, and making the pain come back.

"Oh, _hell_," James said. "What train hit me?" he asked no on in particular.

"An eighteen wheeler, to be more specific," Grissom said, startling James. "How are you?"

"My head hurts, my back aches, and I think I've fractured part of everything," James replied.

"The accident took place in a car owned by the Las Vegas Crime Lab, James. I need to know exactly what happened," Grissom explained. James opened his eyes, and saw Catherine and Grissom sitting on either side of his bed.

"I was talking to them about how I ended up in America, and I said something that surprised Nick. He turned around to look at me, then. He was driving; Warrick was in the passenger's side. I was in the second row, in the middle. I yelled at him to look at the road, and he did. He just barely saw the truck, slamming on the brakes. It slammed into the front. That's it, I think. I don't actually remember much else," James explained.

"You look like hell," Catherine said, from his right.

"Aw, thank you. I feel so special. Did you get that out of the '_Big Book of Things to Say to Accident Victims_' ?" James asked, rolling his eyes.

"James, a few things have come up since the accident. First of all, it was no accident. You were followed from the DMV. The driver, who got away, high jacked the big rig, and tracked you, he was after one of you. We need to know which one it was.

"The second problem is that someone is looking for you. Quite a few people, actually. There was a man who looked like you, a woman with red hair and your eyes, and boy who looked very similar to you, and an older man with white hair. Do you know these people?" Grissom asked.

James blinked, several times. "No, no I don't," James said. Catherine leaned foreword, looking James in the eye.

"Prodigy you may be, but you are a horrible liar. You know these people. Who are they?" Catherine asked. James swallowed.

"The man is my birth father, the woman my birth mother, the boy my twin, and the old man is a Headmaster and my maternal grandfather. Well, they were my family, at one point. They gave me up, I don't see why they would come back," James said quietly.

"What do you mean, 'they gave you up'? James, don't you have parents?" Catherine asked. James leaned back into his pillows.

"Well, yes, two people were involved in giving me life. But I've never had any form of parental influence in my life. I was put in an orphanage when I was fifteen months, came to America at three after I was declared a prodigy, I lived in an orphanage until I graduated High school and got my G.E.D. at ten. I went to UCLA at eleven, and I got a private dorm. Graduated at thirteen, and granted full emancipation. I live alone in an apartment on the outskirts of Vegas," James said. Catherine's eyes were wide, and a hand was covering her mouth.

"Why did they give you up, and keep your twin? Was it financial problems?" Grissom asked. James snorted.

"The Potters are among the top five richest families in the U.K.," James said. "I was simply a disappointment," said James.

"A dissa…." Catherine trailed off and stared at him. When she spoke again, it was with determination. "You are _anything_ but a disappointment!"

"It appears they've figured that out," Grissom quietly said, "so now they want their son back. As a legally emancipated minor, you don't have to go back to them, James."

"You don't know these people. If they want me, they'll get me," James muttered. A beeper went off, and both Catherine and Grissom had to leave. James nodded as they said goodbye.

Fifteen minutes later, four very unwelcome people came into his hospital room.

"Oh, fuck it all to hell!" James roared. "What do you want?"

"Harry!" Lily Potter sobbed, grasping James Potter's arm.

"Actually, I go by James, but what ever floats your boat," James muttered. "You can all go away now. I'm bored of you." To his horror, they sat down. "Shit, I'm surrounded."

"Harry, we're here to take you back to England. You need to be with us," Albus Dumbledore said, smiling at him from his seat on James' right.

"How about you go to hell and leave me alone?" James barked.

"Hey, that's Albus Dumbledore! You can't disrespect him!" James' attention was diverted to his twin brother.

"Sirius Potter. Great to see you, you ignorant son of a bitch. I swear, if I weren't attached to these machines, I'd lay your ass out on the ground for thinking you have any sort of _right_ to speak to me," James said. His words were sharp, but spoken calmly.

Sirius, who apparently did not notice he had been insulted, was staring at the heart rate machine. James rolled his eyes, disgusted by the obvious lack of attention skills. He turned back to see the other three occupants of the room looking shocked.

"Did you need something?" James barked.

"Did you know that you're speaking to the Boy-Who-Lived? He deserves respect!" James Sr. snapped. James glared at them with a fiery passion.

"He deserves to be beat over the head with a sock full of oranges, that's what he deserves," James growled. "I'm going to take a random guess now. I'd say that out of the forty kids in his year, he's ranked thirty fifth. Am I right? I am. Who's the disappointment now? Get out of here. Don't come crawling back, either," James barked.

They left, looking disappointed. James laid his head back on his pillow, and let out a long breath. He stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles to calm down.

"Hey James," Nick's cheerful voice rang out. "Man, you look like hell!" James sat up a bit, to glare at him. Nick was standing in the door, looking right as rain in his work clothes and his Forensics hat.

"Why is it that you were driving, and yet you are standing there laughing at me? Why am I the one still in the Hospital?" James barked. Nick laughed.

"An amazing thing called an 'airbag' saved me. The side airbags didn't help you since you were in the middle. Warrick and I were fine, a few scratches and two sprains between us. You, on the other hand, broke three bones, pierced a lung, and got one hell of a concussion. How're you feeling?" Nick asked.

"I feel like I broke three bones, pierced a lung, and got one hell of a concussion. When do I get out?" James asked, staring at the heart rate monitor. It looked normal, and his I.V. was beginning to itch.

"Your doctor said today, if you feel up to it. Grissom won't let you work tonight, but you're good for tomorrow," Nick said. James growled, but he rang for the nurse. She took out the I.V., and smiled as she said he was good to leave.

Nick threw a bag at him, and James saw it was full of clothes.

"A friend doesn't let a friend walk around in a dress."

James smiled at him, and shooed him out of the room. It was awkward dressing with his left forearm and right leg in a cast, but he managed.

The cast on his leg kept it bent at the knee. It was a white plaster thing, and James was happy to hear that it would be off in only a few weeks. There had been times where he'd had to wear casts for months at a time.

The arm was from the hand to the elbow, but it was black. James smiled. Black was his favorite color. His fingers still worked, so James knew working would not be a problem. Not that working ever _was _a problem.

* * *

I have found that this many crossovers are amazingly fun to write.

ChipmonkOnSpeed

**Reposted 12/5/09**


	2. The Plot Thickens

**A/N:** I kinda forgot to mention it. . . but the Harry Potter time line has been moved up to accommodate the other stories. As House, Grey's Anatomy, CSI, Numb3rs, and the like all take place now, it was Harry Potter that had to change. Sorry. Just add ten years to the original HP timeline.

Harry was born in ninety, Voldemort attacked in ninety one. . . **_BUT Dumbledore defeated Grindewald in 1945_**, to fit with the WWII thing. Just insert ten years in-between that and the other thing.

_**I do not own any of the things owned by other people. . . ? **_

* * *

**Aug. 6, 2006**

James sat in the lab, looking into a microscope, and ignoring the pain throbbing through his arm. He could not tell for sure, but he thought he actually had a match.

_'That would be something_' James thought to himself. He moved the hair just a fraction, and he saw a perfect match. "Yes" James yelled. Even after three years, he was still excited over every match. A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, causing James to spin around, his good arm cocked back, ready to punch. James let out a long breath when he saw it was Grissom and Catherine.

"You know, it's generally bad office etiquette to attempt to knock out your supervisor," Grissom said. James rolled his eyes, turning back around to face the microscope.

"I got a match on the hair. Sebastian Cross, age forty-one, male Caucasian. The man who got away on mishandled evidence. Matched the hair found under the victims fingernail. He had one girlfriend, shot her, got another one, and shot her. The second woman, well, she fought back. She bit him, and scratched his arm. He shot her in the stomach, and ran off to plot his assassination attempt, realizing Nick would be after him. Do I get a gold star?" James asked, sarcastically. Catherine smiled, while Grissom looked thoughtful. He walked away with a strange look in his eye, the looked he got when he figured something out.

James, slightly afraid of what that look may mean, turned to stare at Catherine. She just shook her head, obviously not knowing either.

"I have this horrible feeling that I may have started something awful," James muttered. Catherine moved foreword to look in the microscope.

"I actually think you may have done just that," Catherine said. James groaned, sitting heavily in his lab chair. He began to hit his head repeatedly on the table. Catherine grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him. "Stop that, James. You'll lose brain cells!"

"That would be a relief," James said. "Ah, now I have a headache. I think it's time for a coffee break. I'll be in the break room, if you need me," James said, walking out of the room. He had three hours before his shift was over, and he had a half hour break at his disposal. Coffee sounded good.

Four in the morning was always a good time for coffee. Plus, water always tasted best at four in the morning. It was something James couldn't figure out, but always proved true. James added five spoons of sugar to his coffee, and then took a moment to decide to forgo cream. He sat down on a chair, with the latest project his best friend had sent him.

Andronekos Schwarz had majored in Mathematics at the University of California Berkeley, the same time James was at UCLA. They met at national group for young prodigies, not that it had been named so. It was something more professional, James just was not up to remembering it. Andron had accidentally punched James in the face. This came to that, and they were fast friends. James found it hard to believe it had been almost eleven years.

The project was researching the inbreeding ratio. Andron had minored in human genetics, so he and James liked to work on these things in their spare time. Nick walked in and sat down next to him, reading the paper. James watched out of the corner of his eye, as he saw Nick's eyebrow rise almost into his hairline.

"This is what you do in your spare time?" the older man asked. James turned to look at him, slightly confused.

"Is that a bad thing?" James asked.

"It's not getting you any action, that's for sure," Nick said. James glared at him, attempting to set him on fire with his eyes. Although it was possible, it may look suspicious. Spontaneous combustion was a rare thing, especially in a break room.

"Just when did that become your business?" James asked, laughing slightly.

"When you walked into this lab, as a thirteen year old with an I.Q. surpassing Einstein himself. If that's not a cry for social help, I don't know what is. You need a date," Nick said. James sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, not you too. Sometimes I think Catherine is going to send me on a date with every girl in the country by the time I'm seventeen," James growled. James felt someone smack the back of his head. "But _by god_ Catherine is a great CSI, isn't she?" James asked, in a high voice. Nick laughed, loudly, and James turned to see Catherine staring down at him with a blank look. "Why, hello! How good to see you!"

"James, Nick, we've come to the decision that it would be best if you two stopped working on this case. I just sent Warrick home. We'll call you, when the case is solved. You three are too emotionally attached," Catherine said. James went to protest, but Nick beat him to it.

"Are you crazy? I've spent the last year working to get this guy! I've got the most reason to see this man gone!" Nick yelled, jumping to his feet. James was right there next to him.

"I haven't taken a voluntary day off in the three years I've worked here! Couldn't you reassign us?" James shouted, sounding both panicked and angry. Catherine put her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Guys, this is our decision. I need you to go home, or I'll have to have you escorted out by security. We'll call you when the case is done. Please, go home," Catherine said. Nick growled like a wild animal, and Catherine took the smallest of steps backwards.

James turned to go get his jacket from the back of his chair.

After getting out of the hospital, he had bought a car, so he no longer had to take public transportation.

He was going to stop off at his apartment, and pack an overnight bag, and then drive himself up to Berkeley. It would take about seven hours, if he took the back roads and went just a bit over the limit. He'd be there by ten, and he could drag his friend out to a club somewhere.

James stormed past Catherine, and nearly knocked Sara and Grissom over. He heard Nick behind him, storming just as loud.

"A year of work. A year of practically _stalking_ this man, and I'm too emotionally attached!" Nick thundered, walking towards the parking garage. "James, I'd invite you out for a drink, but you still have five years to go," Nick said, as he passed him in the hall. James laughed bitterly.

"And you think that'll stop me? I'm headed up to Berkeley," James said, grabbing his jacket and walking towards his car. He got in, revving the engine and loving the feeling of the motor roaring to life. He flipped the radio on, and music blasted from all around him. He peeled out of the parking lot, not caring that it was the parking lot of a police station.

He stopped at his apartment, throwing some clothes into a bag. He walked out of his apartment, locking the door. He got in the car, throwing his bag in the passenger seat. His car, a brand new truck that was a shiny black color, did not even have plates on it yet.

As the sun rose, he put on a pair of sunglasses and went faster.

James made it to his destination at precisely ten thirteen. Andron looked shocked, but greeted him warmly.

"Come in, come in, I haven't seen you in four months. What happened to you, cuz? You look like hell warmed over!" Andron said, inviting James into his apartment. James smiled, sitting in his friend's kitchen. "Something to drink? Coke? Sprite? Coffee?" Andron opened his refrigerator door.

"Got any beer?"

"Don't you know it?" grinned Andron, pulling out two beers. He threw one at James, smirking. "Beer at ten in the morning on a Sunday? My mother would kill me, and my father would disown me! What's got you drinking this very fine day?" Andron asked. James growled, thinking of the mornings events.

He explained them to Andron, who shook his head. "That's pretty bad, man. How did you get here? Apparate?"

"No, I drove. Got anything to eat? All I've had today is coffee and three huge burgers. Mmm, are you thinking steak? I'll buy," James said.

"Now I'm thinking steak!" Andron said, laughing. "Come on, let's walk. It's just around the corner."

They picked up the most expensive steaks in the city, and then picked up all the trimmings. They caught up with each other. Work, theories, girlfriends. . . in Andron's case, at least.

Then they got back to Andron's apartment, and fired up his barbeque on the back balcony, as he was on the third floor

"Now, the question of all questions! Gas, or charcoal?" James said, laughing.

"Charcoal, no joke, man."

They both of them sat down in the small, but well equipped, kitchen.

"Do you ever feel, well, like you're really old? I don't feel sixteen, James. I feel fifty, to tell you the truth. Have you ever had college students walk up to you and call you 'sir'? It's unnatural, man," Andron said, shaking his head. James nodded, covering his steak in homemade steak sauce.

"Happens all the time. I went to give a lecture at a really top of the line high school, two years back. These kids may not be geniuses, but they are smart, you know. When I got there, these punks were treating me like some freshmen loser. I walked into the class, and after I started talking, these kids looked at me like I was some form of a god. And here I am calling them kids, even though they are four years older than me. Damn it!" James said, laughing.

Soon the steaks were gone, and James and Andron found themselves in front of the television with a six back of beer. Andron put on a baseball game, and opened a beer.

"This is cool. I don't think I've ever relaxed like this. At least not since I was very young. All my life it's been, _'Andron, I know you're studying in there!_' or, _'I don't hear that piano, young man!_' or even 'Have _you finished your trigonometry, Andronekos!?_' Damn, that says something. I haven't _let_ anyone call me that since I was ten. Damn," Andron said, chugging half his bottle.

James' cell phone began ringing, startling him. He pulled it out of his pocket, and flipped it open, after sighing in a long, dramatic fashion.

"You've reached the Association of Drunken Youth Prodigies, Drunk Youth Prodigy speaking, how may I help you?" James asked, sounding like he said it all the time. Andron snorted beer out of his nose. James flashed a grin at him.

"Funny," Catherine's voice said back to him. "I swear if you're drunk, I will _maim_ you, James," Catherine threatened, "because we need you down here as soon as possible. We need a coroner to pronounce a vic dead, before we can move the body. The press is everywhere. Doc Robbins is out of town, and we can't get a hold of anyone else," Catherine stated, sounding pissed.

"Catherine, I'm in northern California. It would take me eight hours to get there. What makes me a coroner, anyway?" James asked. He heard Catherine sigh.

"Can you still do your Doc Robbins impression? I'll put it on speaker so everyone hears it, and no questions will be asked, alright?"

"Sure."

"Go ahead, Doc."

James loved imitating people. He could do accents from nearly anywhere, though his favorite was Russian. He cleared his throat. "Catherine, is there a pulse?" he asked, in his Doc Robbins voice.

"No pulse," was her reply.

"Any breath?"

"No."

"Is the victim warm?"

"Not even a bit."

"Decomp?"

"Plenty."

"Well, gee, you've got yourself a dead person!"

"Thank you, Doc, do you give consent to move the body?"

"Yes, bring it on in. I was getting lonely, after all, you know," James said.

"Thanks Doc," Catherine said, as she hung up. James sighed, turning to Andron.

"Looks like I'm back to Vegas. You visit me next time, alright? You know where I live." James grinned. Andron walked him to the door, and they shook hands.

"Don't be a stranger," they said at the same time.

James got in his truck, and he put the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life. He laid his head back for a second.

"Damn it," he muttered.

The drive was boring, and he got stuck in traffic for forty five minutes. He sat in the _same_ spot for forty five minutes. Eventually he just turned his car off.

Finally back in his apartment, James collapsed on his bed, ready to sleep for the rest of his natural born life. It felt as if his head had just hit the pillow when his cell phone began ringing in the living room.

"Shit." He stood up, trudging to his couch. He collapsed and answered the phone. "Hallo." He looked at the clock. He had left Berkeley at nearly one, and gotten back to Vegas at nine. He had slept for three hours, making it midnight.

"James, we need you in the lab, now. Can you make it in tonight?" Grissom asked. James resisted the temptation to growl.

"That depends. Do I run the risk of becoming emotionally involved with the case?" James asked in a monotone voice.

"You wouldn't be human if you didn't. Six year old female, suspected cause of death is abuse," Grissom said.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't start anything without me," James said, leaping from his position on the couch. He sprinted to his door, previous exhaustion forgotten as he leapt over the barrier three feet outside his door, and dropping from the second story to the ground.

He was at the lab, and standing in the autopsy room panting as if he had sprinted there. Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"You look good," Grissom said.

"I haven't slept for more than three hours in. . ." he checked the time, and it was ten past midnight, "Nearly thirty hours. I've spent eighteen hours in a car. Fifteen minutes walking in eighty degree weather. Half an hour standing over a grill. I haven't even showered yet. Any questions?" James asked. Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"No. We need to look at the body, and determine the cause of death. You might want to prepare yourself. This is a gruesome site," Grissom warned. James nodded, knowing that if Grissom called it gruesome, it would be bad.

Grissom led him over to the autopsy table, and James got the sudden urge to vomit up everything he had ever eaten. He actually had to cover his mouth, just to make sure he didn't.

It was the six-year-old James had consented to have moved. The child was covered in bruises, and dried blood caked in her hair. If there was one type of person James thought should burn in hell, it was someone who hit a child.

"And the Cause of Death is. . .?" Catherine asked, walking in. She grimaced slightly at the sight of the body, and James didn't blame her.

"Blunt force trauma to the head. That's lovely," James said.

"Well, it's open and shut, isn't it?" Nick asked, walking in. "We just have to find out which parent it was."

"You say that as if you know it was one of her parents, Nick," Grissom pointed out. Nick made to say something, then closed his mouth.

"Do we have an ID?" Catherine asked. Everyone turned to look at James.

"Am I the ID fairy now? I doubt this girl has ever been charged with anything that would be in our database. If it was a child abuse gone really bad, the parents probably won't report it. So now we have to find parents who had a child who no longer have a child. Let me guess, I get to do it. I'll get on that," James said, walking out of the room.

* * *

Any questions about the story can and will be answered if you PM me.

**EDIT: Revised and Reposted 11/23/07. **

**And again on 12/14/07.**

**And again on 11/22/08**

**And again on 12/5/09**


	3. If youth only knew: if age only could

**Because I was horridly misinformed of the location of the TV show **_**House**_**, it is now in Seattle. It's supposed to be in Jersey, but it's in Seattle. Go with it. Not till next chapter, though. . . **

* * *

**Aug. 7, 2006**

Grissom, Catherine, and Nick stared between each other. "We've obviously not been forgiven, Catherine," Grissom said, looking at his coworker. Both turned to look at Nick, who simply shook his head and began to walk away, out of the room.

"Nick! Nicky! Come here!" Catherine demanded. Grissom almost laughed at the motherly tone. Nick turned back, glaring at both of them. "You haven't forgiven us either, have you?"

"More so than James has. I've never seen him emotionally attached to _anything_. You insulted his professional integrity, Catherine. Yes, I was emotionally attached. I know that. All I wanted was to see this guy in prison. I wanted to right my wrong. James simply wanted to do his job. If anything, he's attached to his work, not the cases. I swear, he gets a Techie High whenever he gets a match, or he solves something. He loves what he does," Nick said, sounding angry.

"We know that," Grissom said, "but why is he holding a grudge?" Nick made a face, trying to figure out a wording.

"If I had this really hot girlfriend, and you met her a week later, after I told you how wonderful she is, and how in love I am, would you tell her I'm not a loyal man, and that she should get away when she can? No, I don't think you would. James treats his job like I would a hot girlfriend, as creepy as that sounds. He's doing everything he can to keep his job. Christ, Grissom, you're the supervisor, you're supposed to know this kind of stuff!" Nick barked. He walked out the door.

Grissom turned to Catherine, bewildered. Catherine rolled her eyes, not understanding how it was not clicking for Grissom.

"Honestly, Griss, you are a little too oblivious some times. James has a fear of rejection and failure. That was the whole girlfriend metaphor. If James, for any reason, had to leave his work, it would probably destroy him. Don't worry, he'll forgive us eventually. James is forgiving like that, I hope. . ." Catherine said. She nodded to Grissom and left the room.

Grissom got back to his autopsy when Doc Robbins walked in, ruling out all possible surprises in the case. Two hours later, he was sitting at his desk, working on paperwork. He was getting a migraine, and trying to work out the complicated mind of a sixteen-year-old genius was not helping.

The night shift supervisor saw James walking by his office. His demeanor was a lot like Greg's. Both were young, funny, slightly sarcastic, smart, and non-conformists. Grissom new that James would make a great Investigator, just like Greg.

And yet, James was strange in so many ways. He was young, abnormally so for this line of work. He was also sharp tongued, knowing exactly what to say to win a conversation. Oh, he rarely did so, out of general respect for other people, but it was a gift.

Grissom had been considering, for quite some time, taking James out in the field for a few trial runs. He knew, intuitively, that James would be great.

But the kid was an enigma. He had more degrees than a thermometer, yet he was as socially inept as a rock. Grissom got the distinct impression that James kept very, very few friends. He struck Grissom as the kind of child who would have chosen reading and studying over playing and slacking off.

Grissom was not one to usually get in his coworkers personal affairs, but he wanted to help James. There was something about him that was Grissom could identify with. It was either his introvert tendencies, or his lack of showing general human emotion, or his inability to know when to stop working and relax.

Standing from his desk, Grissom went to the part of the lab he knew he would find James. He was right. He found James sitting in front of a computer, going through missing persons reports. His left eye was twitching, and that meant he was bored, tired, ready to kill someone, or a combination of the three.

James looked up at him, and nodded. "I used the picture from the autopsy to create a composite of the vic. I'm trying to match it to a missing child report from the last two weeks," James said. Grissom nodded. He looked over James shoulder at the computer screen. He saw the picture of the girl, and gasped slightly. The girl was very cute. She had big, bright blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a happy smile.

"Who could have hurt that child?" Grissom asked. James snorted.

"There are some sick people in the world. Does this look like her?" James asked. Grissom looked closely, and he saw a startlingly close resemblance.

Two months later came Halloween. James, as he always had, acted extremely weird for the week leading up to, and the week following the day. Grissom had been observing him closely, and confronted him in the break room two weeks after Halloween.

"James, your shift is over, correct?" he asked. James turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Why asked me? You tend to know when I'm supposed to be off better than I do," James grinned. Nick and Greg laughed, and Grissom glared at them over his glasses. They turned back to their intense game of _Go Fish_, with Warrick dealing. It had been slow, after the Halloween rush.

"Are you free for breakfast? Dinner? Whatever it is you eat after work?" Grissom asked. James shook his head sadly.

"Grissom, I know that I haven't had many girlfriends, but that doesn't automatically make me gay," James said. Grissom glared as the other three men in the room snorted.

"Actually, I just had a case come in," Grissom said. He heard someone jump out of a seat from behind him.

"I'll take it!" Greg, Warrick, and Nick said, eager like green CSI's. Grissom turned to them.

"Actually, I was thinking James and Catherine. You three can continue with your little card game," Grissom said, waving them off. They looked shocked and put out. He turned back to see James looking ready to faint. "James? James? Are you okay?"

"Good, good," James mumbled. Grissom laughed. Catherine walked in.

"So, who's buying breakfast?" Catherine asked. James shook his head.

"Do you like the full English breakfast?" James asked.

"Where do you plan to get that at five in the morning in Las Vegas?" Catherine asked. James grinned.

"You don't trust my ability to cook?"

"Honestly? No. I've seen my daughter attempt that. I don't tend to trust any teenager near a stove," Catherine said. James snorted.

"Meet me at my apartment, and I will do my best to prove you wrong," James said. Grissom and Catherine agreed.

Twenty minutes later found the three scientists in James' apartment. Catherine was staring around in amazement.

"Okay, now where is your apartment? This can't be it, James," Catherine said.

Grissom looked around. The place was surgically clean. Nothing was out of place, at all. Shelves upon shelves of books line the wall. If he had to guess, Grissom would say five thousand, easy. That was just the living room. There was also a big screen TV, and a respectable collection of movies.

The kitchen area was even cleaner than the living area. James motioned to the two seats at the island, and both the CSI's sat down.

"Full Monty alright with you two?" James asked. Catherine turned to look at Grissom, having no idea what had just been offered.

"That's fine," Grissom said. Catherine nodded as well. James turned and pulled enough food out of the cabinet to feed an army.

"What exactly have I just agreed to?" Catherine asked Grissom.

"Fried bacon and eggs, fried bread, sausage, grilled tomatoes, black pudding, baked beans, chips, fried mashed potatoes, sometimes served with bubble and squeak. Which is fried leftover vegetables," Grissom said. Catherine turned to stare at the unhealthily thin figure of James.

"And you eat that how often?" Catherine asked.

"About once a week," James replied. "Do you like your eggs fried, scrambled, or poached?"

"It doesn't matter," Catherine said. "So, Grissom, what's the case?"

"Well, I picked James because he has both the highest score on the diving test, and the cleanest driving record," Grissom said.

"I've had a license for three months," James reminded them.

"Yes, Nick totaled a car two days after getting his permit. Trust me, you win. Our vic was found dead in his car, in the middle of the desert. He was an illegal racer. I need James to recreate the scene of the accident. James, have you ever given any thought to stunt driving?" Grissom asked. Catherine laughed, but James looked up from his slicing.

"Actually, yes. My college days were some of the wildest days you'll ever hear of," James said. "I raced motocross, BMX, and go karts built in a science lab. Being an adrenaline junkie runs in my family," James said. Catherine saw Grissom watching James, and saw it was specifically his hands. "My friend and I built a jet before we went to college."

James was cutting tomatoes, with surgical precision. The knife glinted with the rising sun, causing Catherine to blink.

"I'd figured as much. We need to go out into the desert and do a few test runs. You have a truck, right, James?" Grissom asked.

"Ford F-350," James said absently. Grissom nodded.

Catherine snapped around when she heard tapping at a nearby window. James stiffened, and went to the window. As he pushed the curtain away, she saw a beautiful snowy white owl was perched on the sill.

"Is that. . . an owl?" Grissom asked. James nodded.

"Hedwig. Trained to deliver mail," James said. He opened the window, and the owl fluttered in, hooting softly, and she landed on James shoulder. He untied the roll of paper that was tied to her leg. Hedwig took off from his shoulder and flew towards the TV, perching there.

"You have an _owl_?" Catherine asked, shocked. James looked at her and smiled.

"It's not uncommon where I come from. My grandfather's school has an Owlery, where the post owls are kept. Amazingly smart birds, they are. Ah, breakfast. . ." James said. He got back to his cooking.

"Aren't you going to read the letter?" Catherine asked.

"Mmm, it's just Andron. Probably complaining about his horrid date last night, or his amazing amount of work he has to do by tonight. He's so predictable," James snorted. Hedwig hooted.

A while later breakfast was ready, and James threw a piece of bacon to Hedwig. After examining the eggs thoroughly Catherine tasted it, and her eyes went wide.

"No way. This is amazing! How do you _ever_ eat this and stay so thin?" Catherine asked, jealous. James grinned at her.

"Would you believe me if I said I actually eat six meals a day?" Catherine glared at him. "Mhm. There's breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, tea, dinner, and supper, not including snacks," James said. Catherine's glare intensified.

"About the case. Do you think you can handle that, James?" James nodded. "Good. We'll do it at the beginning of your shift. Eleven, right? Yes, good. Bring your truck, and we can wrangle another car from somewhere," Grissom said. James nodded.

"You really were an adrenaline junkie?" Catherine asked.

"I once drove a motocross bike around a track for five laps without pads, a helmet, or hands," James said. "I rode a BMX bike off of the fifth story of an apartment building," James added. "It's a wonder I still have brain cells at all."

Grissom was looking around the room, his eyes examining everything. He stood up and went to one particular bookshelf.

"These have no common order," he announced. The shelf held maybe a five hundred thick novels. "All the other books in the room are organized alphabetically by title. How are these arranged?" Grissom asked.

"In the order I read them. The first shelf is between three and five, second is six and seven, third is eight to ten, fourth eleven to twelve, fifth is thirteen to fifteen, and the sixth shelf is all the books I've read since I turned sixteen. That's how those are organized," James said. He grinned slightly when he saw Catherine's look.

"You are weird. Will you convert my daughter to studying?" Catherine asked. James smiled.

When they were done with breakfast, James picked up the dishes and cleaned them, putting them in the dishwasher.

"Wow. He's smart, _and_ he does dishes," Catherine said. James shook his head. He noticed the letter, still sitting on the counter, but disregarded it with a shrug. Silly Andron.

"So, eleven tonight, truck, driving in the desert. What is the idea behind that, anyway?" James asked, looking at Grissom.

"We found the victim in a car in the middle of the desert, with no visible signs of injury. He's a well known rich kid, so the press will be all over this. We will probably see this on the eleven o'clock news. Ready to be famous, James?" Grissom asked. James shuddered.

"I think I've suddenly come down with a nasty flu. Can we rain check this one?" James asked. Grissom looked at him in surprise. "Fame and I are not the best of friends," James explained. "My twin is a bit of a celebrity. That's why I'm a disappointment. Hmph, a bit is quite an understatement. Everybody knows Sirius. So, no, I don't have much of a desire to be famous."

"What _do_ you want?" Grissom asked. He was still standing by the bookshelf, reading the titles.

"I want to live in peace, to cure genetic diseases, to publish a book on how to properly raise a child prodigy. '_Tip number one: never attempt to force your prodigy out doors, it may result in violence_'," James said, grinning. Grissom paused to turn around and stare at him. "I have some very fond memories from the orphanage."

"Ah. Was some silly orphanage worker getting in the way of reading time?" Catherine asked, sounding sympathetic but looking ready to laugh.

"Yes. I was three, and he was getting in the way of _Lord of the Rings_. I was being perfectly reasonable when I bit him. It wasn't my fault he started bleeding," James said. Catherine laughed, but then stopped.

"You were reading at three?"

"Um, yes?"

Catherine and Grissom left. James collapsed and fell asleep instantly. He had a dream about a strange land with a grassy field, but he woke up when he suddenly got the picture of his old family in his head.

The alarm clock started trilling a moment later.

The sun was setting as James sat down to breakfast. His dinner had been rather odd for him. He ate breakfast when he woke up, not before he went to bed. He had simple toast and eggs.

James got ready for work, taking his time as he had two hours. He had overslept, but enjoyed every moment of it. He was dressed, and he dropped on the couch, flipping on the TV. Absolutely nothing was on.

After some time, he finally got in his truck, and drove to the place he promised to meet Grissom and Catherine. What he saw made him slightly sick. At least four news crews were surrounding the area.

James stopped the truck next to Catherine's Denali. He got out of the car, and walked over to Grissom. It was dark outside, so the lights on both Catherine's and Grissom's cars were on.

Grissom turned when he heard someone behind him. "Oh, good, you're here. The victim's girlfriend has given us approximate size and time limits for these races. They race trucks around the desert. Nick gladly volunteered to race you," informed Grissom.

"How much did Warrick put on it?" James asked.

"Two hundred on Nick," Warrick said. "Sorry, kid, but he's from Texas," Warrick explained.

"And can I get in on this?" James asked. "Because I'll get two hundred on myself. Sorry, old man, but my truck is newer," James said, smiling innocently. Grissom sighed and rolled his eyes.

"The track is approximately one mile, with sixty laps. Sixty miles. Up to it?" Grissom asked. Nick nodded.

"In the name of science," James said solemnly. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"You will both be wired with a microphone, and tell us everything as you go. Is that clear? Good. The track is clearly labeled with signs. All you have to do is drive it," Grissom said, looking over the wide open space. "Go over with Warrick to get wired, and then go get in your trucks. Meet Catherine at the start. By the way, our vic was seventeen," Grissom called as they retreated.

James got in his truck and drove over to Catherine. He rolled down the window, as did Nick.

"The cameras are rolling, so make us all look good," she said. They nodded. She raised her arms, and then snapped them to her sides.

James shot foreword, his engine roaring.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

Greg, Hodges, Doc Robbins, Sara, David, and three or four other lab workers sat in front of the TV, watching the news anchor announce the race between James and Nick.

"I'm here in the desert near Las Vegas, where Crime Scene Investigators are conducting an experiment to help solve the mystery behind the tragic death of Nathaniel Hampton. Hampton, a seventeen year old with a wealthy family background, was found dead in a truck in the middle of this very desert. Investigators suspect foul play. It is known that Hampton was racing trucks at the time of his death, as the investigators are now.

"Racing now, with full police consent, are two Criminalists from Las Vegas. Nick Stokes, aged thirty two, and James Potter, aged. . . sixteen. They will be racing in the same conditions as the victim was, just last night. That's sixty miles, in a truck, with no air conditioning, no ventilation, no hydration, and no pit stops. They're starting now," the female news anchor said.

The group huddled at the TV jumped at the loud sound of the engines. James's truck was the black one, and Nick's the red, so they were easy to tell apart. They took off, sending dust in the air in a cloud.

"How big is the track?" Sara asked.

"One lap is a mile," Greg answered. "Sixty miles."

"Oh," Sara said.

James had come out of the dust cloud way ahead of Nick.

"James Potter just past the radar gun at one hundred and twenty miles an hour. Nick Stokes past us at one hundred and ten," the newswoman said.

"One hundred and twenty? James is playing with him! That new car will go twice that, easy!" Greg exclaimed, sarcastically.

James had reached the end of the track, and had to turn. He snapped a sharp turn, sending more dust into the air. His truck didn't turn. It _snapped_.

James was sweating, and he knew it. Half a mile and he was sweating.

"How you hanging, James?" Warrick's voice asked.

"Hot. The sun's not even out, and I'm sweating. My thermometer says ninety six Fahrenheit. Speedometer says one twenty," James answered. He finished his first mile, turning again.

He yanked the emergency brake, and spun the wheel, released the brake, and slammed the gas. It was all good for him, then, that the desert sand provided little traction.

He shot foreword, going for a second lap.

Thirty laps, and fifteen minutes later, James was talking to Grissom.

"I'm getting dizzy, my legs are aching, my throats on fire, I'm still sweating, my vision is blurring a little, and my hands are numb," James answered.

"Nick has said much the same thing. Are you wearing a seatbelt?" Grissom asked. James snorted.

"Yes, thank the lord. I've already hit my head six times on different things."

James was on his last lap, the last half mile. Nick was ten feet behind him, and gaining. James, not about to lose two hundred dollars, put all of his gas into it. He even added a bit of magic, just for insurance. His truck shot foreword like a bullet, causing James to be thrown back into his seat, hurting the hell out of his back and neck.

"James, I'm going to need you to slam the brakes when you cross the line, do you understand?" Grissom asked urgently.

"Yes."

James crossed the finish line, and slammed the brake, pulling the emergency, too. Yet, it did not work. James was moving at nearly two hundred miles an hour, and he did not have brakes. He did not seem to be slowing, either.

This could not turn out well.

* * *

**Edit**: I got a fairly rude review about the location issue, something along the lines of, "_No offense, but wouldn't it be a bit obvious that the PRINCETON-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital would be in PRINCETON? And perhaps the same place where there's that little-kinda-known PRINCETON college? And considering the what happens on the show...does it even snow in Washington?" _

My reply: Firstly, yes, it snows in Washington, the state. Secondly, the hospital I got to is called Kaiser. Is it in Kaiser, California? No, no it is not. Secondly, I live in a town by a certain name. There are five towns in the country with the same name. 5. Is it guaranteed that the Princeton in Jersey is the only one in the country? No. I live some miles away from a town called Dublin. Oddly, they got one of them in Ireland, too! Have I made my point? Damn, the place could have been named after the founder, Edgar Princeton, or something. Jesus Christ, quit whining.

**EDITED: ****12/14/07**

**And again 12/5/09**


	4. Opportinuty

**Prodigy  
Chapter: 4**

* * *

"_Trouble is only opportunity in work clothes."- Henry J. Kaiser _

* * *

_James crossed the finish line, and slammed the brake, pulling the emergency, too. Yet, it did not work. James was moving at nearly two hundred miles an hour, and he didn't have brakes. This could not turn out well._

_He did not seem to be slowing, either. _

* * *

**Nov. 6, 2006**

"Damn it, James, I told you to hit the brakes!" Grissom barked.

"Fuck it, I did!" James yelled. "The brakes aren't working, and I'm not slowing down! Oh-

* * *

-shit!" Grissom and Catherine heard James scream. Grissom turned to Warrick.

"He can't stop. Nick stopped, but James can't. Something's happening, and I'm a curious person," Grissom said calmly. Catherine, however, was in panic mode.

"We have to get him stopped!" Catherine snapped, glaring at Grissom.

"Newton says he'll stop eventually," Grissom said.

Warrick said, "Warrick says he's still going one hundred and twenty nine miles an hour."

"Catherine says that based on Newton and Warrick, he's going to hit that hill before he slows down enough to stop. He'll hit the hill at one hundred miles an hour. And that hill, over there," she pointed in the general direction James was heading, "is steep. He'll slam right into it."

Grissom turned to look at the truck, squinting. "I do believe you're right.''

"Thank you ever so m- Ah shiii-_ya_!" James roared. Everyone's attention turned to the truck, which had spun to the side, and did six or seven barrel rolls. Catherine let out a small shriek. The truck came to a stop, on its wheels, in a cloud of dust. "Well, I'm glad I decided on a light breakfast today. I'm really dizzy right now. Anyone got some Advil, or some Tylenol? Some Morphine?" James asked. His voice sounded strained, and thick. It was almost like he was speaking around liquid.

"He's bleeding. He's got blood in his mouth. We need to get there, now," Warrick said.

"No, I was expecting you to mosey on over, you know, like you already are!" James said. The three investigators jumped in the nearest car, Catherine's, and took off towards James' truck. Nick was already on his way, his red truck rushing towards James' at an unruly speed.

They got to the truck, and opened the door. James was sitting there, his seatbelt off, and his head resting against the head rest. Blood was dripping down his face, from his forehead, nose, and mouth. His eyes were closed, but not tightly.

"James?" Nick asked, looking tired, and yet a lot better than James. "You okay there, kid? Kid?"

"I feel great, actually. I found some pain killers in the glove compartment. Those six Advil's kicked in pretty quick," James turned to his left, and spat out a mouthful of blood. "Just let me take a slight nap, and I'll be right as rain."

"Oh, no you don't," Grissom said. He leaned foreword and grabbed James shoulder, shaking him. James attempted to push his hand off, but Grissom doubled his grip. "No sleeping, James. We need you to stay awake. Tell us what happened."

"No brakes. No stopping. Go wheeeee. . ." James murmured. Grissom turned to Catherine.

"I think he's in some form of shock. We need to keep him awake, or else he might go into a coma," Grissom said. His head snapped around as James' hand closed over his own, tightly.

"I saw something. In front of me. That's why I swerved. I think it was a stress induced hallucination. Hazy, and smoky, but something was there. Like a big. . . something. Shaped almost like a man. A tall man. My chest hurts. Chest pain, left arm hurts. I think I might have had a minor heart attack. Oh snap, is this a record?" James did not sound as amused as his words were.

Grissom checked his pulse, and found it racing. Grissom turned towards the group of gathered people two hundred yards away.

"Medic! MEDIC!" Grissom yelled. Catherine flinched.

"So, what did our vic die of?" Nick asked. Grissom turned to look at him, his face blank.

"Cardiac arrest. Where is that medic?" Grissom asked. He turned to look at Harry, who had fallen asleep. Grissom sharply shook James, who did not wake. Nick leaned foreword and slapped the young man, who started awake.

"Pi!" James barked, coming to.

"Mornin' sunshine!" Nick said, not sounding amused either. James opened his eyes slightly.

"Where are my glasses?" James asked. Grissom was confused, in that moment.

"James, you don't wear glasses."

"I don't? When did that happen?" James asked.

"I've known you since you were thirteen, and I've never seen you wear glasses," Catherine said.

"Oh. I'm sixteen. I knew that. Right. I stopped wearing glasses at twelve. Grissom, you need to shave," James said. His eyes were unfocused, and that scared his colleagues.

The medics got there, and put James into the ambulance. A medic stood, holding the door ready to close it. "One of you coming with us?"

"I am," Grissom said, climbing into the ambulance.

* * *

At _Las Vegas Good Hope Hospital_, James Potter lay near death, being worked on by medical professionals. They did not know what to do, or how to help him. The young man had suffered a major heart attack, but no one could figure out _why_.

He was young, healthy, and strong as an ox. It baffled the staff, and cardiac specialists. It should have been impossible for James to suffer a heart attack, especially one so massive. Not that James Potter had a clear medical record, but nothing like this.

Broken bones, sprained ankles, concussions, ruptured spleen, and the odd infected kidney, but nothing heart related. Not even slightly high blood pressure, another thing that confused the staff. If they were as overworked as this kid was, they'd go loopy, not to mention have terminally high blood pressure.

As James' regular doctor was out of town, the next choice did the only thing he could think of; make a call to James' medical power of attorney, Andron Schwartz. Quickly filling the man in on the situation, Andron agreed on the best course of action.

A diagnostic specialist.

The only problem was that the best, and only one Andron would ever trust with his best friend's life, was in Seattle. A three-hour helicopter ride was against the doctor's best advice, but it could be done. Carefully. Perhaps.

* * *

Grissom sat next to James' bed. He looked down at his young colleague. Contrary to popular belief, Grissom did have feelings. No one he worked with was just another person to him. They were all somehow special, and unique.

James had captured his attention from the first moment they met. Grissom was a scientist, and James was a puzzle that needed to be solved. Over the years, Grissom had attempted to solve the puzzle, but he could not.

James, a young prodigy, was doing what Grissom had done. He was becoming an introvert, depending on books and not emotions. Grissom had only heard of James having one friend. A friend who lived eight hours away.

Grissom felt guilty. It had been his plan to put James in the car. He had known the victim had died of a heart attack, in the same circumstances he had put James into. It had been his negligence that had put James into danger. The man had almost been killed.

The doctors said it was a major heart attack, induced by stress. James also had bumps and bruises, and a mild concussion, but nothing extravagantly serious. Knowing him, James would want to be back in the lab right away.

Grissom knew he could not allow that, yet he probably would anyway. As a minor under the age of eighteen, James could work no more than forty hours a week. James had yet to work under a forty-hour week. He made a habit of working between forty-five and eighty ours a week. James once had a week that came out to one hundred and twenty hours. Grissom had literally seen red.

But James was usually reasonable, and a great Techie. Grissom respected James' dedication and skill in his line of work. Not many sixteen year olds were like that. If James made a promise, he kept it. Grissom could always rely on him to get evidence done as fast as possible.

As he was thinking, an old man slowly came into the room. Grissom stood up, wary of whom this man could be. He was very old, with silver white hair, and rather non-descript clothing, though it was slightly out of fashion. He had light, sparkling blue eyes partially hidden behind half moon glasses.

"Who might you be?" Grissom asked. The older man looked between James and Grissom. He sighed, looking worried and stressed.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. Harry's grandfather," the man explained. Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Harry James Potter," the old man, Albus, clarified.

"Oh, _James_. Yes, his name _is_ Harry. Yet I do believe that James is an emancipated minor, no longer in need of parents or grandparents. That fact leads me to ask why you would be here, asking after a grandson you no longer have," Grissom said. The man, Dumbledore, looked defeated.

"Let me explain to you what happened, shall I?" Grissom agreed. As soon as the two men sat down, Catherine came in. She looked surprised, and raised an eyebrow.

"This I have to hear." Then she sat down. Dumbledore nodded, looking even older.

"Before me story starts, there is something you must know. My family and I, H-James included, and maybe a million other people in the world, are not normal. We are. . . wizards; we have control over magic."

Catherine snorted, and Grissom raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Before either could say anything, Dumbledore pulled a stick out of his pocket. He waved it, and a book on James' bedside table began to rise in the air. With another flick of the stick, the book turned into a red rose.

Catherine made a choking noise, but Grissom gave no outward sign of emotion.

"Harry- _James_, is also a wizard. He knows this, and I know as a fact that he had a great grasp of magical knowledge. His father is an Auror, or a person who hunts Dark Wizards. Like the muggle Scotland Yard, or the National Guard. He became a professor at the school I run. James' mother, Lily, is a teacher of Charms at my school. His grandmother is a transfiguration professor, and deputy headmistress. His twin brother is a sixth year student.

"Fifteen years ago, there was a Dark Wizard named Voldemort. He was apprenticed to Grindewald, a Dark Wizard I defeated in nineteen forty five. Grindewald convinced Hitler to start World War II, if you were wondering. Voldemort was an evil man, full of hatred and rage. He killed people by the hundreds, even thousands. He killed people who were not pureblooded, or descended from wizards. Muggleborns, halfbloods, and what he called blood traitors- purebloods who side with muggles and muggleborns. He has called me a blood traitor before.

"Voldemort became very powerful, and he specialized in the Cruciatus and Killing curse. He was hell bent on ruling the world. Until a prophecy was made, predicting the fall of a Dark Lord at the hands of a child who would be born at the end of July, to parents who had thrice defied the Dark Lord. Voldemort would mark the child as his equal. Harry, his twin Sirius, and another boy all fit the description.

"Fifteen years ago, Voldemort attacked the Potter residence, attempting to kill the child before he became a threat. It backfired. The entire family survived, and Voldemort was temporarily defeated by one of the boys. The entire world believed it was Sirius. Well, Sirius is a hero. A superstar beyond imaginable proportion. I do not believe it. Sirius is an okay kid, but he is just average, with no real talent outside of sports. He had no real amazing powers, but Harry does. Sorry, _James_.

"I was never told that _James_ was being put up for adoption. _James_ was my pride and joy. I spent as much time as I possibly could with him, more time than his parents ever did. I loved that child as if he was my very son. I knew his parents ignored him, but I tried to make up for it. Two weeks after the incident, I went to my son's house to see Harry, er, _James_. I was told he was put in an orphanage. I did not speak to any of the three of them for five years, and the only reason I started to do so was for two reasons. One is because I needed a Charms professor, and two is because Voldemort returned.

"We need Harry. I know he is the Boy-Who-Lived, the Defeater of Voldemort, the Chosen One, the Prophesized Child, whatever you wish to call him. No one believes me, but I know. Harry, or James, is an amazing child. There is another reason I need him though.

"Voldemort has been recruiting werewolves, promising them human flesh in return for their services. They, of course, believe him. We need Harry to cure Lycanthrope, or the werewolf disease. I know he can do it, and _only_ he can do it. If we can cure werewolves, they will side with us. We need Harry. I don't want my world to be ruined," Dumbledore said, growing slightly hoarse.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't believe that," Catherine said.

"It's true," James said, "well, I know most of it is. Voldemort, the Prophecy, Sirius being a hero. I told you I had a famous brother."

Grissom leaned towards James, looking concerned.

"How are you feeling, James?" Grissom asked. James snorted.

"Screw that, how's my truck?" James smirked.

"Just fine, not even a scratch," Catherine told him. James smirked.

"Thank god for protective magic."

"So, James," Grissom said, "you're a wizard?"

"That would be true. I have a wand, and a broomstick, and an owl," James said.

"A broomstick?" Catherine asked. This was getting weird.

"To fly on, you know?" James said, grinning. "Bet you two didn't know I've been going up to Berkeley three or four times a week for the last two months. A snap of the fingers there, eight hour visit, and a snap of the fingers back," James said. Catherine looked confused. "Something like teleportation. Apparation."

"Oh. Okay. Just how old are you?" Catherine asked Dumbledore. He smiled.

"I'll be one hundred and fifty one on December twenty first," he said, smiling softly.

"You're one hundred and fifty years old? How is that possible?"

"Magic," James said, "will sustain the human body. We can go longer without eating, drinking, and sleeping than a muggle can. It keeps bones, veins, blood and organs healthy for years longer than muggles can live. Dumbledore's father lived to be two hundred and twenty five. Not that you really care, but woman can actually have children for larger parts of their lives than muggle woman. Ovulation doesn't end until sometime around halfway through the second century," James explained.

"That is why my wife and I didn't have children until our hundred and twenties. My daughter, Lily, went right into it and had her sons in her twenties. That's very unusual," Dumbledore said. Before Grissom could say anything, James turned to Dumbledore.

"I'll think about it. Go back to Scotland, and I will contact you if I get an answer. But I need to think about it," James said, sounding strained. Dumbledore nodded, looking sad.

"I never meant this to happen, Harry, I'm sorry," Dumbledore said. James nodded, not saying anything. Dumbledore left, leaving one tired, and two very confused people.

"Well, James, You have some explaining to do," Catherine said. James nodded.

"Did his explanation not tell you enough?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"I like my head on my shoulders, thank you. There is a very, very strict law against telling Muggles about the Wizarding world. I would be fined and sent to jail for twenty-five years, for endangering the lives of a million people. Not my cup of tea, you know," James said, grinning tiredly.

"This is amazing," Grissom said. "I've never thought. . ."

"Most people don't. So when can I get out of here?" James asked, sounding like a little kid. "And where am I? This isn't my usual hospital."

"Certainly not today," some one said. James jumped, and Grissom turned to see a doctor walking in. He was scruffy looking, and walking with a cane. "You just had a heart attack yesterday; of course you don't want to leave today. We need to know what caused your heart attack. Are you on drugs, drinking alcohol, or having wild unprotected sex?" the man asked neutrally.

"Define '_wild_ sex'," James deadpanned. Everyone in the room paused. "No, of course not."

"Interesting, seeing as your tox levels show alcohol, in excessive amounts," the doctor said. "So either you're lying to me, or. . . you're lying to me."

"Okay, so I drink. A lot. That did not cause the heart attack, I know that. It was stress induced, and based on the circumstances, it was to be expected. No harm, no foul, let's get the hell out of here," James said.

"That's an interesting one. Did you use it at your last gang bang?" the doctor asked. James glared. "I just go by what I see. By the amount of tattoos you have, and the alcohol, I would assume you were in a gang."

"Drunken nights and a fraternity," James remarked. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"High school fraternities? What is this world coming to?"

"College, UCLA. Bachelors, masters, PH.D, you name it, I have the papers. Law, medicine, human genetics, mathematics, pathology, chemistry, philosophy, Latin, English, Spanish, French, Greek, Russian, German, Arabic, History. . . do I need to go on, or will your dumb ass sign the release forms?" James snapped. Catherine's eyes widened.

"No. I want to watch you get really frustrated," the doctor said. "It's how I get my entertainment."

"You wanna know how many levels of evil that is? Screw this, too. I'm emancipated. I'll sign myself out."

"Sorry, you're scheduled for a cat scan in two days. Can't let you leave. Again, sorry," the doctor said. He left, looking victorious.

"Refrain from killing him, refrain from killing him," James chanted. Catherine grabbed his arm.

"James, what's wrong? I've never seen you so irritated."

"I hate Hospitals. Hospitals hate me. It's a mutual thing, actually. Where am I?" James asked.

"Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, in Seattle, Washington," Grissom answered.

"I will not sit here and ponder over the fact that Princeton is not on this side of the country. . ." James said calmly. After a moment, it was obvious he was asleep.

"We may need to do some investigating, Catherine. In light of the news, we know there is more to James than meets the eye. In all the fairy tales with witches and wizards, what happens?" Grissom asked. Catherine was thinking, but could not find the answer.

"Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble," James murmured, before his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep.

"_No_!" Catherine hissed. "Are we really talking about potions here, Grissom? This can't be happening," Catherine said, not believing anything.

"Call Andron. He'll let you into my house. I'm going to sleep now," James mumbled, startling Catherine. James fell asleep again, deeply this time. Catherine and Grissom turned to look at each other.

* * *

**A/N:** **Unless you missed it last chapter, I was (grossly) misinformed of the location of the TV show 'House'. I'm just about three thousand miles off. It's now in Seattle. No one is allowed to disagree. Jersey? No . . .**

(Never trust your father over Google.)

_ChipmonkOnSpeed_


	5. Too Smart and Too Young

**Prodigy****  
Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: Not mine. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. Well, except the House and Grey's Anatomy parts. Those belong to. . . whoever TV shows belong to, I guess.

* * *

"_Everyone is born with genius, but most people only keep it a few minutes.__" _

"_For every child prodigy that you know about, at least 50 potential ones have burned out before you even heard about them."_

* * *

**Nov. 10, 2006**

Grissom and Catherine were sitting in front of James' door, waiting for his friend to show up. The trip back from Seattle had been boring, long, and time consuming. If it were not for James, Catherine did not think she would have lasted all three hours.

Suddenly the door opened, and a tall dark skinned teenager with cornrows stood on the other side. He had kind, dark eyes, a warm smile, and a slightly crooked nose; just slightly. He was dressed in casual tan pants, and a loose light blue long sleeved shirt.

"Hello. You must be Mr. Grissom and Ms. Willows?" The boy asked. They nodded, and he opened the door so they could enter. "I'm Andronekos Schwarz, but please call me Andron. When you called, you asked me to show you around James' apartment. I'll assume you know about his situation, and allow you to see the other side of his lifestyle. You may know this room. We call it the library," Andron gestured to the living room he and Catherine had visited a few days before.

"Yes, we've been here. What's so magical about it, then?" Catherine asked, trying not to sound as skeptical as she felt. Andron nodded. He waved his hand.

"_Illusio_," Andron said. Catherine and Grissom watched in awe as the room changed completely. The books disappeared, leaving the walls light and airy looking. The couch, before a nice cream color, became black leather, and looked very comfortable.

The kitchen changed very little, but the effect was amazing. Dishes were washing themselves, and the fruit was in what looked like a plastic dome.

"Preservation Bubble. That fruit will never go bad," Andron explained. Grissom saw the pictures hanging on the walls were moving. One depicted fifteen people flying on brooms and playing what looked to be some form of a sport. "Now to see. . . The Lab."

Andron led them into the spare room, and when they looked inside, it looked like a spare room. Again, Andron raised his hand, and said the same incantation.

"_Sorry, Andron. Security measures, you know. I can't have just anybody waltzing in and stealing my stuff. The password is something my real best friend should know. To see The Lab, all you have to do is repeat after me_," James' voice said, coming from no where.

"Damn it, he has to do this to me. His lab is his home inside his home. His life. What did he say the first time I saw it? '_Welcome to my life. . ._?' " Andron thought aloud. The room as it was began to melt away.

It was replaced by a dungeon type room, the walls were lined with jars of different things suspended in fluid, and there was a desk with a cauldron on it, something inside bubbling.

"Oh, snap, I don't think James meant to leave this for that long. He needs some boomslang skin on that, some lacewing flies pus, too. I wonder if he has eye of newt," Andron said. He was suddenly absorbed in making this potion. The thick green substance soon became a murky, chunky brownish gray. The teenager looked up at Grissom. "May I have three of your hairs, sir?"

Grissom hesitantly handed over three hairs. Andron ladled the potion into a goblet, and added the hairs. He drank it, and looked ready to gag.

The scientist watched in horrified fascination and Andron's skin began to bubble and writhe. Before they could blink, Andron was gone, and a second Grissom stood in his place.

"This is genetics at its very best. Complete reproduction of every physical feature. Great for buying alcohol . . . but neither me nor James know that, of course," Andron said, as Grissom. The real Grissom looked slightly queasy. "Complete DNA replication."

"So if a wizard committed a crime in the body of another person, we would be led to the other person?" Grissom asked.

"Yep, that's what I'm talking about. That's why you're lucky James is in your lab. He can override the potion, and find the real DNA. He's probably done it before, too," Andron said casually. Grissom nodded.

"Well, that is good, I suppose," Grissom said, sounding awkwardly relieved. Catherine nodded, looking around the room.

"This is amazing. What's this door?" Catherine asked, spotting a door that was barely visible in the corner of the room.

"That door leads to James' past. I'm not even kidding. Trophies, his BMX and motocross bikes, his skateboards, you know, everything like that. He'll go in there when he's depressed. . . and make himself even more depressed. I think his Cripple Collection is in there, too. Crutches, wheelchairs, splints, casts, it's amazing," Andron said, still looking like Grissom. He waved his hand in front of himself, and he went back to his own self.

"Oh, can I see?" Catherine asked. Andron nodded, opening the door. The three went into the room, looking around.

Grissom saw TVs playing what appeared to be continuous movies. When he looked closer, he saw that they were movies of James pulling ridiculous stunts on various bikes.

"That one is where he broke his right femur. Serious crash and burn, man," Andron said. They watched as James flew off a dirt hill on a motocross bike.

"Superman!" someone in the movie yelled. James, holding onto the handlebars, threw his legs out behind him, so he looked like superman flying.

Too much force from his leg throw caused the bike to flip out, so it was parallel to the ground, seat to the earth below. The engine was still going, and so were the tires. The front tire grabbed a chunk of James' face, tearing it clear off the bone.

He was falling rapidly, and in no position to land. One knee went down harder than the other, and a _CRACK_ was heard. Catherine winced. The next scene was James in a wheelchair with a bandage around his face.

"Well, you look wonderful," a voice said. It was recognizably Andron's.

"Go to hell," James said. He was in the hospital, looking ready to leave. Up close, he looked to be twelve. "How in the hell am I going to explain this one away?"

"Just do it like the last time. Tell them you got into a fight with a really, really big bull." James stared at him, looking both amused an indignant. "Well, it _did_ work last time!"

"Barely. And I had to make them think that I work on a ranch. Do I look like a farm boy?" James asked.

"Nah, man, you look more like a science nerd."

"Science Geek, thank you. And what are you talking about, Math Nerd?" James asked.

Grissom turned to look at Andron. "He often breaks bones?" Grissom asked. Andron nodded easily.

"Oh, yes. Before he learned to heal bones, he had to do it the good ol' fashioned way. Six weeks in a cast, sometimes more, because he'd re-brake it through the cast." They continued down the long, hallway like room.

In all, there were probably sixty casts, eight wheelchairs, and fourteen sets of crutches.

"Let me tell you, James was pissed when he had to wear that cast a few months ago. Since muggles saw it put on, they would expect him to wear it. Poor, poor James. Is there something in particular you wanted to see here?" Andron asked. His skin was slowly darkening back to his own, and he looked a bit surprised.

"What was James' childhood like?" Catherine asked. Andron nodded, and continued down the hall. He pointed to one screen in particular, these at these end were different from the previous ones.

"These are memories, not movies. There were taken from James' memory, not a camera. I love mind magic. This one here is interesting," Andron said. Grissom and Catherine turned to look at the screen, interested.

* * *

_A small child was sitting outside, under a tree, reading a thick book. The only part of the cover visible read "-ology of a Criminal." _

_He was small and bony, and looked like he would snap in half with a slight breeze. His hair was sticking in every imaginable direction, looking stuck right between long and short. His eyes were a guarded, but beautiful green, so bright, yet so dark at the same time._

_A tall, reedy boy walked up to him. He was a dark skinned boy, with straight cornrows, and powerful brown eyes. He had strong cheekbones, and a long face. It was Andron. _

"_Yo, Potter! We gonna sit here all day, or can we get going? I got things to see, and people to do! Let's go!" little Andron yelled. His voice was rich and somewhat deep, even at the young age he was. _

"_I'm right here, you know! You don't have to yell when you're three feet away from me," James said. Andron rolled his eyes. _

"_Get a move on, orphan boy!"_

"_Coming, mama's boy!" James yelled back. James got up, holding his book and falling into stride with Andron as they walked towards the street. _

"_Science Geek."_

"_Math Nerd."_

"_Freshmen!" _

"…_Andron, you're a freshmen too."_

"_Shut up!" _

"_You totally just lost- whoa!" James said, stopping and looking in the street._

"_Oh, you haven't found a dead squirrel again, have you?" Andron complained, stopping to turn back to James. _

"_Yeah, I did. Look at it! It's flattened, and the jaw is cracked open. It looks like it died screaming. Blood pool around the body suggests one hit didn't kill it. It was wounded, and then hit again, and killed. Bloody brilliant!" James said. Andron looked disgusted. _

"_Okay, never do that again. Hurry the fuck up! The library closes in fifteen minutes!" Andron growled. James turned to look at him. '_

"_Eight hundred and forty five seconds. You figure that at one second a step, with the library fifteen steps away, we can be there in fifteen seconds. Take in the amount of time it's taken me to speak, you'll have fourteen minutes in the library." They started walking. "As we know the library wall to wall, finding books is no deal. Hey, I'm going to the gas station. Meet you at the park in twenty minutes," James said. Andron nodded, walking into the library. _

_James continued, reading as he walked. He didn't trip or stumble at all, and he easily avoided colliding with other people. This suggested that he often read while he walked. _

_As he entered the gas station, he closed the book, taking his nose out of his book only long enough to pick up what he wanted. He picked up a pack of shell-less sunflower seeds, but put them back. _

_James heard the door open, but paid little attention. He did, however, pay attention when he heard the tell tail sound of a revolver. _

"_Oh shit. And it all goes to hell from there," James whispered. _

"_Give me the money, and I'll kill you painlessly. Refuse and I kill you slowly," a deep voice said. James slowly turned around, seeing a tall masked man holding a gun to the cashiers face. James put on a thinking face, and grabbed medium sized bottle of hot sauce. He slipped to the isle end cap opposite of the robber. _

"_Three options; drop it and make him shoot, throw it at him, or option three the most safe option, one that involves no bullets, is using the hot sauce as a 'weapon'. Eeney, meeney, miney, moe. Six rounds, ten seconds to reload. . . possible to hit him in the head. . . I'd proably hit him in the leg…." James threw the glass container to the ground with as much force as he could. He heard two shots in his direction. He ran down the next isle, passed the dairy and ice cream, towards the register. _

_The robber was not to be seen. James heard the crunch of glass under a heavy boot. The cashier was staring at him in awe. James nodded at him. _

_The robber went back to the counter, pointing the gun. "Shit, he's persistent." James reached to the left and grabbed the first thing he could; a chunk of cheddar cheese packaged in plastic. "I always did like those carnival games."_

_James threw the cheese in a high arc at a pyramid of Twinkies, knocking them over. The robber jumped, shooting three shots towards the Twinkies. "One to go, and all for a bottle of water." _

_James looked around, and threw caution to the wind. As the robber leveled the gun at the cashier, James leapt on him, knocking him to the ground. They struggled for a moment, but James grabbed the revolving cylinder. No revolving, no shooting. _

_James used his other hand to wrestle the gun away. He kicked the robber in the nuts. Six times. _

"_Call the cops," James ordered. The robber attempted to get up, but James beat him to it, pointing the gun down at him. "One shot left." James spun the revolver. "You feeling lucky?"_

_It was five minutes before the police showed up, and James was questioned. Andron showed up, looking worried._

" '_Nother life or death situation?" Andron asked. _

"_Yep," James said _

"_Kid, what's your name?" an officer asked. _

"_James Potter," James replied, glaring at the man. The officer nodded, writing it down. _

"_Birth date?" the officer asked._

"_July thirty first, nineteen ninety," James replied. The officer nodded. _

"_So that makes you eight?" the officer asked. James nodded. "What elementary school do you go to?" _

"_I never went to elementary school. I did three years of middle school, passed easily, and now I'm a freshman. Three years of easy A's in high school, and I'm going to any college in the country on a full scholarship. Anymore questions?" James asked. The officer nodded. _

"_Where are your parents?" _

"_Sadly not in hell, so you'll have to settle for Scotland," James said. The officer's head snapped up, and he stared at James. "I'm an orphan. You know, rockin' the foster care system since ninety one. Have yet to actually be adopted. Haven't seen the bastards since then."_

"_How did you manage to disarm a man who was easily three times your size?" another officer asked. _

"_I dropped a bottle, threw a chunk of cheese, and tackled him. Simple as Pi." Andron snorted. The officer nodded, amazed. "Can I go, or do you have more questions?" _

"_I do. May I see your hands?" a woman in a crime scene investigation vest asked. James showed her the back and palms of his hands. _

"_No gun shot residue, if that's what you're looking for. I never shot the gun," James said. The woman looked at him. _

"_You certainly know a lot about my job."_

"_It's an interesting job. Don't you mainly investigate murders?" James asked. _

"_The robber murdered another convenience store cashier two blocks from here not two hours ago. Single shot to the head." _

"_Do you mean to tell me that I jumped on a murderer, and threatened him with an empty gun?" James asked. _

"_It would seem so," the investigator said. "That was very brave, you know." _

"_Or very stupid. May I go now, ma'am?" James asked politely. She smiled and nodded at him. _

"_We may need to contact you."_

"_Alright," James said brightly. The questioning officer stared at the investigator, dumbfounded. James smiled as he and James walked out of the store. _

"_Are you in the middle of everything?" Andron asked, a few blocks away. James shrugged. _

"_Potter curse." _

* * *

The scene fizzled away.

Grissom turned to Andron, and jumped slightly when he saw the sixteen year old. He had been expecting the eight year old, either that, or a mirror image of himself. "Potter curse?"

"Oh, yeah, that's an interesting one. Apparently, a Potter from nearly around third century pissed off this really. . . _butt headed_ witch. She cursed him, and his whole family, so the legend goes. Trouble finds them like drugs find junkies. They only cause it half the time. All Potter heirs are cursed with unnatural powers of attraction, charm, and charisma, yet this unfailing bad luck to end up in the worst of situations. Crazy funny," Andron said.

"So James suffers from. . . bad luck?" Catherine asked. Andron nodded, smiling.

"But it's only the heirs. Poor James, he had to be born fifteen minutes before his brother. Fifteen minutes, and he ends up almost dead every other day. Not great for the medical coverage, you know. Anything else you wanted to see?" Andron asked, turning to look at them.

"No, I think we've got it covered, thank you," Grissom said. Both the Investigators left the apartment, just as confused as when they had entered.

* * *

Greg House was standing at the nurses' station of the hospital, absolutely dreading clinic duty. Why Cuddy put him, and herself, through this, House did not know. Speaking of her, she walked up next to him.

"House, we have a mass casualty, all hospitals are to respond. You're going," Cuddy said, nearly glaring at him.

"Mmmm, mass casualty is not exactly my cup of tea, you see. I do more of the diagnosing, not the stitching, and the surgery. You understand, don't you?" House asked, walking towards the clinic.

"Listen, House, someone is going to that site from this hospital. I don't care if it's you or Chase, someone is going," Cuddy declared. House stopped, and turned to look at her.

"I may have someone for you. Is a medical degree from Harvard good enough for you?" House asked.

"It's perfect. Who is it?" Cuddy asked. House brushed passed her, walking towards a room down the hall. He opened the door.

"Hey, kid!" House barked. He turned to see Cuddy's eyes widening, and he raised an eyebrow at her. The annoying genius who occupied the room turned to look at him, his face emotionless. "You know how to deal with a mass casualty?"

"Of course I do. Triage," the kid said. House nodded, turning to Cuddy. She sighed, glared, and then sighed again. She turned to look at the kid.

"How old are you?" the kid sighed.

"I'm sixteen."

"And you went to Harvard?" Cuddy asked.

"Yes. And Yale, MIT, Berkeley, UCLA, Georgia Tech, and UCSF. Is there something you needed?" the kid asked.

"Yes. You. In the field. Now," House said. The kid raised an eyebrow. "There was a mass casualty. I don't want to go. That leaves you."

"And how did you land on me?"

"You're qualified. It works, kid. Will you go?" House asked.

"Will you release me?"

"If you do this, then yes. I'll let you go," House said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

**Reposted on 12/15/07**

**And 12/5/09**


	6. When Hands Don't Shake

**Prodigy****  
Chapter 6**

**DISCLAIMER:** I own a Rubber Ducky collection consisting of 46 ducks. I own a bottle collection consisting of 20 bottles. I do not own the massive collection of shows and books in this story.

* * *

"_If you do this, then yes. I'll let you go," House said, rolling his eyes_.

**Nov. 10, 2006**

"Why can't you send one of your little employees?" the kid asked, raising an arrogant eyebrow. House sighed to himself, rolling his eyes.

"I don't trust them enough with something like this."

"Oh. Okay."

Twenty minutes later found James sitting in an ambulance, headed over to Seattle Grace Hospital. They had more people to pickup before going to the casualty site. James laughed at the thought of medical interns and residents. He'd never actually done that, as he'd never gone into the field of medicine he'd studied. He had chosen to help the dead, instead of the _almost_ dead.

The ambulance came to a stop, startling James out of his thoughts. The other woman in the cab of the ambulance opened the door. She paused at the number of people waiting. "Sorry, we can only take five. We're carrying supplies, too. You'll have to leave one behind." The short black woman looked back at the other residents.

"Yang! You're staying. The rest of you, get in," she said. They clambered in, and suddenly James felt very. . . stared at.

"Can I help you?" James asked, politely.

"Who are you?" the short woman snapped.

"James Potter."

"I don't_ care_. What are you doing in here? You don't look old enough to drive," the woman said.

"I have a license. And a medical degree from Harvard Medical School," James said. He looked away, turning his head to look right ahead. He still sensed people staring at him. People who stared bothered him, a great deal. "Before you ask, I'm a fully licensed and fully trained surgeon."

They continued to stare. Damn it.

"Harvard?" one of them asked.

"That's right. But I haven't practiced medicine in awhile. I'm a Lab Tech in Las Vegas, out of UCLA and UC Berkeley. Do you need any more credentials?" James asked.

"I don't like your tone," the short woman asked.

"I don't like yours," James told her, "Now we're even. Imagine that."

The ambulance stopped, and the back doors were opened. James got out last, feeling uncomfortable in scrubs after not wearing them for so long. He climbed out, and his jaw nearly, _nearly_, dropped. A ferry had crashed, and people were all over the place. Injured, helping, looking at the scene in terror. James, remembering that he was supposed to be doing something, went foreword.

"Wait! Where do we go?" he heard an intern ask. He shook his head as the other person responded.

He found the first person he could help. James was very fast when it came to medicine, and for two reasons. He knew what he was doing and because he could magically heal people. The muggles did not notice, and it made his life much easier. _Hooray_ for the oblivious nature of muggles!

However, James did not believe in using magic for big things in healing. He used magic to hold things in place, numb injuries, and clot blood. He wouldn't heal cuts or bruises, because he believed the body needed to do such things naturally, whenever possible.

James stitched up four people with minor yet serious cuts. He was walking to the next victim when someone fell into step with him. "You thought you were going to get the mass casualty without me? You're off your rocker," Andron said. James flashed a quick grin at him.

"I think you got here just in time. Look at that," James said. Andron turned to look.

"What do you mean, you can't take him?" an agitated looking intern asked. An ambulance driver shook his head.

"Sorry, but the hospitals are over filled. You'll have to do the doctor thing right here." James walked foreword, looking at the banged up patient.

"What's wrong with him?" James asked, looking up to the intern.

"Brain injury. Can you do anything for it?" the intern looked panicked. James nodded.

"Yes. I can open up his skull and perform brain surgery, right here, and right now." James turned to the general area and yelled, "We're going to need a ton of napkins and a gallon of hand sanitizer, on the double!" People turned to stare at him. "On site brain surgery! If the scalpel fits. . ."

Three people rushed over, ready to assist. James nodded to Andron. He picked up the hand sanitizer.

* * *

Greg House turned on the news in the clinic. He was curious about the mass casualty Cuddy had been talking about earlier. It was breaking news.

"I'm here at Elliot Bay, where a ferry has crashed. It's being called a mass casualty, where many have fallen victim to this rare and tragic occurrence. Doctors from all over have showed up to help with this. Two of the most notable are Doctor Andron Schwarz out of Berkeley, and Doctor James Potter, out of Las Vegas. Now for the notable part; they are both just sixteen. Both have graduated top of their classes at two different medical schools. We've just gotten word that James Potter is about to perform on the site brain surgery. This is unheard of, dangerous, and goes against protocol."

House watched as the camera zoomed into catch James scrubbing in, using hand sanitizer. House nearly dropped the folder he was holding. He turned, and found himself face to face with Cuddy.

"I've decided it would be in the best interest of the victims if I were to go lend my-"

"House, you don't care about the victims. You're upset because your patient is scrubbing in on a really cool surgery, and you want to be a part of it. Well, tough luck, House. You're in the clinic for the rest of the day. Deal with it," Cuddy said. House raised an eyebrow.

"Little moody lately, Cuddy?"

"Clinic. Now."

* * *

James ignored the fact that all of Seattle was now staring at him, on TV or otherwise. His hands didn't shake as he poked and prodded the brain of a living man. He didn't blink as blood dripped on his shoes. He was focused, and determined.

Hours later, the surgery was completed, and Seattle cheered as one. The anesthetics wore off, and the man opened his eyes.

"Oh god, I'm dead. I'm in heaven," the man mumbled. James looked down at him.

"Actually, this is Seattle. You're alive. You just had brain surgery. How do you feel?" James asked.

"I feel great, actually. Who was the surgeon, kid?" the man asked, trying to turn his head

"I was. Have a good day, and get to a hospital when they clear out some," James said. The man, whose eyes had widened, nodded dumbly.

James and Andron, who had assisted the surgery, walked to more people who needed help.

By the end of the day, James was splattered in blood. He'd have to be checked for HIV or AIDS, too. Some blood had gotten in his eye somehow. He and Andron cleaned up, and Andron headed down to Berkeley. He had to work.

James went back to the hospital he had been staying at. His doctor, House, seemed angry for some reason.

"You're free to leave. My advice is to take an Aspirin once a day. . . for the rest of your life. As you've had one major and six minor heart attacks, it's solid advice. Goodbye."

James just stared at House, as he walked out the door.

To pass some time, James went to lunch. One problem. Not many places were open and serving lunch at two in the morning. He found a small diner that was open twenty-four hours a day, and he had a salad.

He got back to Vegas by five in the morning after slowly apparating a hundred or so miles at a time. He took another shower, and went to bed. He had quite a few dreams that night, but he could not remember them in the when he woke up.

It was a tough choice, trying to decide whether to go into work. He decided to give it a shot, and he got in his truck.

* * *

**Nov. 11, 2006**

As he walked into the lab, people turned to stare at him. "Let me guess, you saw the news?"

"That's right," Grissom said. "Nice surgery, but we do need you here, thank you for coming in. Come on, we just got a case," Grissom said, walking towards the conference room.

"Oh, should I go prepare the lab then?" James asked. Grissom stopped, then turned.

"You're on this one, James. High profile, all hands on deck. Conference room," Grissom said. James shrugged and followed him. In the conference room, James was greeted with enthusiasm from all but Catherine. She just looked at him, briefly, before looking away.

"We got a call from hotel security at the Diason. The owner's son turned up dead in the hotel pool. He-"

"Freddie? Freddie Diason?" Warrick asked, sitting up straight. Grissom looked down at his file.

"Frederik Diason, yes, that's him," Grissom answered. Warrick hung his head.

"Shit. Shit. _Shit_-"

"As interesting as this is, Warrick, some of us would like to know what's wrong," Sara said. She was sitting across from Warrick, between James and Catherine.

"I've known Freddie since he was a little kid. I used to go to that casino, and Freddie was always there. I taught him how to play poker, and pinball. He- I can't take this case, Grissom. I can't do it. Please. . ."

"That's alright. I'll put you and Nick on another case, I think we might manage. Sara, Greg, I have a case for you, too, before you start on this one. Catherine, James, you're both with me. Understand?" Everyone did, and they stood up to leave. As they got in the hall, Catherine grabbed James' shoulder.

"I need to talk to you, it's important. After shift," Catherine said. James nodded, raising an eyebrow. Catherine nodded, with a blank face.

The casino was in an uproar; gamblers were upset, but the workers were all out distraught. James felt sorry for the people, but he did not let that cloud his judgment. He followed Grissom and Catherine to the indoor pool.

David, the assistant coroner, was photographing the floating body. A crowd of people surrounded the pool, crying. One man in particular looked hysterically angry. He was screaming in the face of a police officer, demanding something. When James got closer, he could hear.

"I want to know who the hell did this! I want to know a name, and I want to know right fucking now!" the man screamed. He was dressed in an expensive, probably Italian, suit. He was the owner of the casino, and the father of the victim.

"James, I want you to talk to possible witnesses. It's vital that we solve this as well and as soon as we can. The vic's father sounds like he's ready to murder the first suspect."

James carefully questioned as many people in the room as he could. He took careful notes, observing facial expressions, body language, and tones.

His questions led him to the arcade. As it appeared, Frederik Diason spent at least thirty hours a week in that arcade, and the arcade attendants new him better than most people did. The arcade was closed, despite the posted hours of ten to midnight everyday.

James let himself in, and found four people sitting around the counter. Two men, two women. A red headed woman was crying on the shoulder of a Hispanic looking man.

"Excuse me?" James asked. Nobody even turned to look at him.

"Arcade is closed, man," a tall blond boy said, in a thick voice.

"I'd noticed. I'm with the Las Vegas Police, Crime Scene Investigation. I need to ask you a few questions," James said. They looked around at him.

"Okay. We'll try our best to answer," the brunette girl said. James nodded.

"What can you tell me about Frederik Daison?" James asked.

"He was an awesome kid. Like a little brother to me. I've known him the ten years I've worked here. He was a great kid. Nicer than his asshole of a father, at least ," the Hispanic looking boy said.

"And what is your name?" James asked.

"Julio Cruz, thirty one," Julio said. James nodded. He continued asking names, ages, and relationship with the victim.

"Freddie was the arcade king. He'd take in ten thousand tickets a day. All of those he'd hand to random kids walking by. He was generous like that."

"You might want to take a look at his room, too. His father gave him a room on the high security level. I wouldn't mind having my own room with a spa and bar at the age of fifteen. Yeah, so, his room would be a good place to start."

James got LVPD to open the door to the suite. James aimed his standard issue nine millimeter into the room. He flipped the light on, and saw no threat. He kept his weapon drawn, just in case.

The room was nice, with a king sized bed, a spa, and a bar. There was a great view of the strip, and a laptop half opened on the windowsill. James put a glove on and opened it all the way, noticing that it was on. He saw what looked to be a history report on it. Well written, good grammar, proper indentation. James nodded, seeing nothing else on it. He decided to bring it to the AV lab, just in case.

Schoolbooks were strewn about the floor. Apparently, it had been a very tough report. James found the backpack on the bed. He looked through it, finding nothing of importance. Something had to be in here, something to explain why the kid had been killed. James knew it was murder, and not a drowning. Blood in the pool near the body suggested foul play nine times out of ten. The bar was apparently fully equipped. Vodka, whiskey, beer. James raised an eyebrow.

He heard the door open behind him. "Freeze!" he heard Catherine bark.

"How about I don't and say I did, Catherine?" James asked. A moment of pause followed this.

"James? What the hell are you doing in here?" Catherine asked. James stood up and turned around

"I got here first. Do I get a prize?" James asked. Before getting an answer, he turned to point to the laptop. "He has a five page report on Attila the Hun on his laptop. Plenty of history textbooks, a backpack, and a fully stocked bar," said James. Grissom walked foreword, looking at the laptop.

"Who authorized you to be in this room?" Catherine asked.

"Kalvin Diason, father of the victim. He scares me a bit, I suggest a bit of anger management. I have yet to find anything to point us in the direction of a killer." James turned to look at the bed. It was made, but James suspected that was maid service, and not a tidy fifteen year old. "The vic stayed here during the time he spent with his father. Divorce. He spent every other two weeks with his father. The mother lives just outside of Vegas. The father practically lives at his casino. He was married to his work, and tolerated his son."

"Those are ingredients for disaster," Grissom said.

"Ay, it is. Parents are so stupid," James said. Catherine's head snapped in his direction. "Except for you, of course. You're a great mother," James said. He heard Grissom chuckle. "Hey, you're ruining the moment, Grissom!"

James walked into the AV lab, with quite a bit of evidence. "Archie! I've got work for you!" Archie, the AV tech jumped a little.

"Hey, James. What do you have for me?" Archie asked. James put the evidence on the table.

"Laptop, security tapes, and a cell phone. Well, let's get started," James said, excited. Archie raised an eyebrow.

"Who said you get to help?"

"We have _hours_ of security film to look though, on fifty different cameras. You need help, Archie," said James. Archie nodded.

They spotted the vic walking towards his room, between ten and eleven at night. He went to put his key in the door, but it pushed open before he could. Shrugging, Freddie walked into his room. Twenty minutes later, room service came up. The person entered the room, leaving a minute later. Freddie did not come out the rest of the night, even though his time of death was midnight. James switched the tape to the camera from the poolroom, the one looking directly down at the pool.

Before long, men in masks threw a flailing Freddie into the pool. Three shots were fired, right into the vic. The water around him darkened with blood, and the masked men left swiftly. "Clear up the picture; let's see if we can get a closer look at the shooters." The picture cleared, but barely. They zoomed into the shooters, but the top of the head wasn't a good indicator of anything. "Hmm, let's try the camera that's at more of an angle," James suggested.

They spent four hours looking through the tapes of the night, from nearly every camera on the floor, and then some. James and Archie went through five pots of coffee, and their eyes burned from staring at the computer for so long. Grissom walked in, looking tired. "Did we get anything off of the tapes?"

"Yes, we did. As far as we can tell, the vic was carried out of his room, in a room service cart. He had entered his room at ten thirty four, room service showed up at ten fifty four, a very fast delivery, and the room service left at ten fifty five. My guess is that there was already someone in the room when the vic showed up, and this person attacked and tied up the vic. Ten minutes later the vic is seen, alive, being thrown into the pool. Three gunshots later and he was dead. We couldn't get any identifiable features from the pool area, but we did see an unknown man walking into the vic's room at ten, and walking out at midnight. Also, no visible features," James said. Grissom nodded.

"I'd thought as much. See if you can trace the unknown back from the room to where he came from, before he entered the room. Tell me if you get anything," Grissom ordered. James nodded, before turning to Archie.

"I think we need more coffee."

"A_ lot_ more coffee."

* * *

**Reposted on 12/15/07**

**And 11/22/08**

**And 12/5/09**


	7. Phoenix of Doom

**Prodigy**

**Chapter 7**

* * *

_"I think we need more coffee." _

_"A lot of coffee."_

After shift found James asleep in his truck in the parking lot. He wanted to sleep until the end of forever, but it wasn't to be so. He heard someone tapping on his window. James opened his left eye, and looked out the window. Catherine was standing there, looking rather tired, as well.

" 'Ello," James said, rolling down the window. Catherine nodded.

"Tired, James?" Catherine asked.

"No, I was doing a rather unknown form of yoga. . ." James said, smiling sweetly. Catherine smiled, rolling her eyes. She walked around the front of the car, and got into the passengers side.

"You're smart, aren't you, James?" Catherine asked. James nodded.

"I like to think so. Why?" James asked. Catherine sighed.

"Lindsey is failing Biology. What do you know about the subject?" asked Catherine. James turned to look at her.

"What does Lindsey failing Biology have to do with me?" James asked. Catherine sighed deeply. She paused for a moment, seemingly gathering her thoughts.

"She failed it last year. She can't fail again, if she does, the school is considering holding her back, making her a junior again next year. I've made a deal with her. I won't ground her for the rest of her life if she agrees to be tutored, and I see a positive change in her grade. Do you think you could tutor her?" Catherine asked. James looked over to her.

"You should know that I'm not the best teacher in the world," James warned. Catherine shrugged.

"Not important. Hot boy, interested in science? Lindsey may find herself compelled to study more often. Please?" Catherine asked. James thought for a second.

"Alright, I'll do it." Catherine smiled.

"Thank you. What time do you wake up?"

"Usually around three, three thirty," answered James.

James agreed to meet Lindsey at the library at five o'clock, three times a week. He did not, however, know how clueless Lindsey was when it came to Biology. By the end of the first week, James was ignoring the strange urge to shove the textbook down her throat.

"James!" Grissom called from down the hall. James turned toward him. "We may have something on the Daison case. Meet at the casino," Grissom said. James turned and walked to his truck.

He met Grissom and Catherine in the lobby of the casino. The casino was barely livelier than it had been the week before, the night of the murder. The murder had really hit the people of this place hard. "What's our lead?" James asked.

"A high roller. He claims he saw the masked men dumping their masks. He was rather intoxicated at the time, so he can't be sure, but it's all we have at the moment. Catherine, could you go talk to the father of the victim? James, go talk to... anyone that seems involved," Grissom said. James stared blankly at him. "Just. . . go talk to somebody, somebody who looks involved." James continued to stare at him. "Alright, fine. Go be inconspicuous somewhere and see if you can find some leads," Grissom said, and then he walked away. James shrugged, and pulled his shirt out over his belt, which contained his badge, standard issue gun, and a cell phone. his shirt covered all of this, allowing him to be inconspicuous.

Within ten minutes of walking around the main parts of the casino, James ran into a young looking couple fighting. They were maybe twenty one to twenty five. James stepped foreword when the man punched the woman in the face. "Hey! That's not cool, man," James barked. The woman, who was shaking uncontrollably by now, looked relieved. The man, however, looked livid.

"This is none of your business, punk. Get the fuck out of here," roared the man. James raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I am not in possession of _'the fuck' _so I can't get it out of here," James replied. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave this woman alone."

"What? You got a problem with me?" the man yelled. James shook his head.

"Oh, no, no, I don't _got_ a problem with you. I _have_ a problem with you. Real men don't hit women, and if you were smart, you would follow that advice," James said, his tone deadly. The man stepped foreword, and pulled a gun out of the waistband of his pants. He held it up to James' face, and the woman, who had collapsed against the wall, screamed. "Not a great idea, but I never took you for the idea sort of guy," James said, sarcastically. They were in an empty hallway, so James had no hope of someone turning up to help. The man punched him in the face, but James didn't flinch.

"What the fuck?" the man slammed the handle of the gun into James' temple. When James did nothing, the man fired a shot, but James turned, so that bullet entered his right shoulder. He wrestled the man to the ground, and began to cuff him. He turned to the woman.

"What's his name?"

"Elliot Carter," she replied, in a shaking voice.

"Elliot Carter, you are under arrest for battery, aggravated assault, and attempted murder of a member of the Las Vegas Police Department." He pulled the man to his feet, took his badge off his belt, and pushed it in the mans face as proof. He replaced his badge, and began to lead him towards the lobby o the casino. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you can not afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?" James asked. The man remained silent. James stopped in the middle of the busy lobby, people staring at him, and repeated himself, "Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?" Silence. "I will stand here all day repeating myself if I have to do so. Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?"

The man simply refused to respond. Then he spit on James' shoes. James, holding onto the cuffs, used his left hand to grab his cell phone. He called Grissom for backup. James was starting to feel dizzy, from lack of blood. Grissom showed up two minutes later, after James had repeated his question thirteen times, each without a response.

"What happened to you?" Grissom asked.

"I was shot. No big deal, but this guy is refusing to answer my question, so, I figured you could help," James said. His right wrist felt wet and sticky.

"What did he do?" Grissom asked.

"I approached him when I saw him hit a woman. I confronted him, he punched me, I didn't react, he got a good shot to my temple, I didn't react, he shot me, I arrested him. Then I gave him his rights, I asked him if he understood, and he hasn't responded. Have any suggestions?" James asked. Grissom nodded, grabbing the front of the mans shirt.

"Do you understand your rights, or do I need to have you taken out back so they can be explained more fully?" Grissom growled. James raised an eyebrow. Grissom wasn't usually so aggressive.

"Fine! Fine! I understand!" the man yelled. A circle had formed around the three, and from it came two people.

"What are you doing with my son? Let him go! Let him go!" a woman, of about forty, shrieked. James winced at the extremely high pitch. Grissom turned to her.

"You're son is under arrest for battery of a citizen, aggravated assault, and attempted murder of a crime scene technician. That's life in prison no matter how you cut it," Grissom said. The woman covered her mouth with her hand, and stared at her son.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Take him away."

"That we will do," Grissom said, leading the man out of the door. James went back to his searching for clues. He ran into Catherine in the arcade, or the door to the arcade.

"Hello, Catherine. Waiting on something?" James asked. She jumped a little, but did not turn.

"Yes, waiting for this damn arcade to open," she replied. James tilted his head a bit, before kicking the metal gate that closed the arcade. It rattled violently.

"Open up, Vegas police!" James barked. "I'll give you to the count of three!" Two arcade workers ran out of the back room, fumbling for keys, and got the gate open. Catherine turned to James.

"I see you have The Voice," she said, before walking into the arcade.

"Excuse me?" James asked, following her. She shrugged.

"The Voice. You have to have a certain voice for people to respond like that. I said the same thing, and all I got was 'In a minute, lady!'," Catherine said. James smiled charmingly at her. She shook her head and headed towards the counter of the arcade, where the prizes were kept. She began talking to the people whop worked the arcade.

While she did that, James leaned against the wall and coaxed the bullet out of the wound on his shoulder. It was really beginning to sting. The blood was dripping from his fingers. It was becoming sticky, too.

James walked out of the arcade, and downstairs to the gift shop. He wandered around a bit, finally buying a sewing kit. The woman at the counter smiled at him.

"Hello, dear. Pop a button?" she asked, kindly. James shook his head.

"Gun shot wound, actually. Minor stitches," James said, smiling innocently. The woman's eyes widened. James paid, and began walking to the bathroom. He got a page from Grissom, though, and he detoured to the lobby.

As he was walking, he rolled up his right sleeve, and began threading the needle. He got one stitch in before he ran into Grissom. "You paged?" James asked. Grissom looked at him, more specifically, his shoulder.

"Is that sanitary?" Grissom asked. James rolled his eyes.

"If it's not, I'll sue myself for malpractice," James said. Grissom shook his head.

"I'll be sure to testify, then. We've got a lead. The kitchens. The vic ordered food from the arcade phone, around ten minutes before he got to his room. That lead us to believe. . . what?" Grissom asked him.

"That it was an inside job. The murderers were kitchen workers. We just have to find out who and why. Any clues?" James asked. Grissom began walking towards the kitchen. James followed, finishing his stitching.

"Last month six people from the kitchen filed complaints against our vic. Three of them ended up fired in the last two weeks. Do you believe in coincidences, James?"

"No. Not when it come to crimes," James answered, with conviction. Grissom nodded, pushing open the door to the kitchen. James turned around and gagged. The placed was ripe with the smell of fish. If there was one food product James couldn't stand, it was fish.

He covered his mouth and nose, walking in beside Grissom. "Are you alright, James?" Grissom asked.

"Fish, bad smell. Let's just ask the questions and be done," James said.

It took two hours to question everyone. In that time, they nearly cemented the case against the three remaining complainers. James sprinted from the kitchen when they were done, while Grissom walked out at a more sedate pace.

"I will not vomit, I will not vomit, I will not-"

"I take it you don't like fish?"

"Bad memories. Eating contest. You get the idea. Are we on our way back to the lab?" Grissom nodded, and James headed to his truck. Or, he tried to anyway. He was somehow intercepted by hoards of camera crews.

"Back off," James said. The continued bombarding him with questions. "Okay. Here's the deal. You stay, and I'll go. How's that?"

James got into his truck, thanking magic that his windows were magically tinted. They were too dark too see in, but perfectly fine to see out. James got to the lab, yawning tiredly, but going right to the trace lab anyway.

It took him a few minutes to match what he needed. "And we have court time."

* * *

**Dec. 25, 2006**

By Christmas, everyone in the lab was noticing subtle changes in James. Nick had walked up to the young man and plucked one of his hairs. "It's gray," Nick had said. James glared at him, before turning on his heel and walking away.

One day, Grissom had noticed James' hand shake. He turned to Catherine after James had left, and said, "I watched him perform brain surgery, and his hands never shook. Something's wrong with him."

A few days after that, James showed up to work only five minutes before his shift. He had never shown up later than a half an hour early.

Catherine noticed James texting someone on his cell phone during his shift.

Warrick mentioned that he heard James vomiting violently one night, but later saw James running trace.

Sara said she saw James screaming on his cell phone, in his truck, after shift one day.

Grissom said nothing, as nothing seemed to be affecting James' work. He showed up on time, worked meticulously, and usually left two or three hours late. He was the perfect employee.

James showed up in his office, twenty minutes early, grinning like a damn fool. Grissom was immediately on guard. Either Star Trek had been brought back, or something much worse. It turned out to be. . . good.

James handed him a legal document, stating that as he had worked the required probationary period as an emancipated minor, plus since he was now sixteen, he could work as many hours as he wanted. Grissom sighed. That's just what he wanted. James moving into the lab. He looked up at James.

"Lab rules, if you work three shifts, you have to take at least a mandatory two shifts off. Understood?" Grissom asked him.

James quickly did the math, and figured out that if he did two shifts, and took one off, he could work one hundred and twenty hours a week. He grinned.

"I can deal with that," James said. Grissom looked at him suspiciously, but James just continued to smile innocently. "I have to get to work!" announced an elated James. He could have sworn he saw Grissom roll his eyes as he turned around, but he would not put money on it. Eye rolling was so un-Grissom-ish.

James worked harder than he had been before. He was going out into the field more and more, and he went through DNA samples like they were going out of style. He had made quite a few, startling discoveries in cases.

"What are these marks, here?" Nick asked, pointing to pictures of the latest victim, in the data room. Everyone looked at the autopsy photo. The picture was of bruising around the neck, the vic had died of strangulation. There was a very specific pattern to the marks, and James instantly recognized it.

"Bike chain!" he chirped. Nick, Catherine, and Sara turned to look at him, baffled. James sighed. "The bruise pattern. It's the pattern of a bike chain. See, here," he pointed to the rectangular areas of lighter bruising that happened in measured patterns, "this is where the toothed ring goes, drawing the chain around the crank, and thus moving the back wheel, propelling the bike foreword-"

"James, we know how a bike works," Catherine said. "What we don't know is how you recognized that."

"I used to ride BMX," explained James.

"What I'd like to know is how a bike chain is handy," wondered Nick. James thought for a bit.

"Because it wasn't actually a bike chain. It was a wallet chain," he hypothesized. "The killer took it off, and killed her with it." He saw the blank looks he was getting and said, "Well, it's just a theory. . ."

"A wallet chain made out of a bike chain?" Sara asked, sounding skeptical. James nodded.

"My friend has one," he explained. Nick laughed.

"It's funny how you say 'my friend', and not 'one of my friends'," Nick said, still laughing. James felt his ears turn just slightly red. He had never been good at making friends. People his own age were usually not dedicated to education and learning, but dedicated to TV, and the like. Not people James could befriend, that's for sure. Nick stared at him. "Please tell me you have more than one friend."

"So, yes, it was most likely a wallet chain in the form of a bike chain. So, you're suspect is a punk who listens to rock music. Go figure. I have DNA to run," James said, getting out of the rather uncomfortable position he had been put in.

As soon as the young man left, they went back to work.

"He blushed!" Sara said, sounding almost amazed. "He actually showed a human emotion, other than a Lab Rat high!"

"It was strange," Catherine admitted. Nick was just shocked that the boy only had one friend. "I mean, what does he do when he's not here? He reads, he sleeps, and he eats. That's not normal behavior for a sixteen year old."

"Are we gossiping now?" They all jumped as Grissom's voice reached them. They all tried to look busy.

"No. Of course not. Never," Catherine said, 'examining' the evidence with a critical eye. "We're working here, Gil, so if you could leave. . .?"

Christmas Eve found James working in the lab. He was a little upset, though, when no body found this strange. Ah well. Plenty of opportunities to be weird.

James had been exchanging letters with his grandfather since Thanksgiving (and explaining the real reason behind the holiday. . . silly wizard brits) and found out the Werewolf problem was getting much worse.

He did not know how to deal with this. He felt somewhat bad, because he had been working on a cure for four years, and was so close he could taste it. Nevertheless, they had dumped him, had they not? Now they came crawling back, asking for his forgiveness. It just did not fly with him.

On the other hand, James still wanted the chance to be able to throw this in his brother's face. Yeah, Harry James Potter is the useful one. _Sirius who_? In the end, he decided not to go. He had work to do, anyway.

He also wanted to know why Dumbledore, who claimed to have always loved him, had never attempted to contact him before that point.

The months passed, slowly. James continued to act strange, in Catherine's opinion. His short hair was becoming messy, overly so. He seemed to have forgotten what a comb was. James had black rings under his eyes, making him look like a raccoon.

Valentines Day came and went, and James was accumulating hours like a mad man. He also kept a notebook with him, filled with tiny scribbles, and symbols no one could understand.

Warrick took one look at it and proclaimed, "This is something speed freaks do after being up for ten days straight." James had glared at him.

"I'm not on drugs. Those 'symbols' are simply Old Celtic. The 'doodles' are Hieroglyphs," explained James. Warrick nodded.

"Uh-huh."

St. Patrick's Day also went without notice. What was noticed, though was James becoming increasingly excited about something. He was more talkative than normal, which scared most of the lab.

He also smiled more. Before, he would smile if somebody said something funny, but now he was just smiling when nobody else was in the room. His spontaneous smiling scared the people he worked with immensely.

James was sitting in his study, reading the latest letter from his grandfather. The poor man was still getting used to calling James by his chosen name. James could see where the 'H' had been crossed out in the name.

'_James,_

_I have gotten word from a reliable source that another clan of werewolves has been initiated into Voldemort's rank. As part of the initiation, they raided a muggle town on the full moon, killing sixty innocent men, women, and children. _

_I know that you do not want to come but, please, any help you could give would be wholly appreciated. You are the only one, in the world, that I believe can accomplish this task. I would trust no other with it, anyway. _

_I hope your job is treating you well, and whatever else it is you do. Work is all you talk about, James. This is not healthy. A word of advice: never run a school in the middle of a war. Especially if Sirius Potter attends said school. Twice this last week, your grandmother has had to stop me cursing the poor boy. The thought is very tempting. _

_Albus Dumbledore_'

James read the letter with a small, sad smile. He knew that Albus was going crazy dealing with the other Potter's, and nobody was taking the old man's side. Aside, that is, from James himself. James penned a quick response, and sent it off with Fawkes, the wonderful phoenix of doom, as Andron had dubbed him.

It involved Fawkes flaming in while James was at Andron's house. James was in the kitchen, making breakfast, and Andron was. . . ahem. . . busy. Fawkes had mistaken Andron for James, and well, yeah. James found the whole thing absurdly funny, and would never let Andron live it down.

Oddly enough, Andron hadn't spoken to James for the two weeks since that. James couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why.

James dashed off to work, realizing that he only had an hour before he started. He didn't want to be late. . .

James' seventeenth birthday was fast approaching, and he couldn't help but want to do a happy dance. Sure, he was an emancipated minor in the Wizarding world, but at seventeen, he would simply be an adult. Of legal drinking age. Par-tee. Poor Andron was two weeks younger than James. Poor boy.

James had taunted him mercilessly about it.

* * *

**Jul. 3, 2007**

July came, and Grissom noticed James was working a hundred and twenty hours a week, and had been since Christmas time. That was over three thousand hours in six months, and five hundred a month. Only three people in the entire lab worked like that, willingly. James, Sara, and Grissom himself.

Grissom had gotten a letter that stated he was going to be required to make James take a six-month leave of absence. It would seem that James had not read the small print of the contract he signed.

In all honesty, Grissom was slightly afraid to be the one to tell James. He knew that James was not particularly violent, but was emotional, about his job, nonetheless. So, when Grissom handed out assignments, he made sure he was out of the lab, and he left Catherine with the task of telling James.

Some would call it cowardice.

Others would call it self-preservation.

James was tapping his fingers on the nearest desk, waiting for the computer to finish running its tests. He noticed Catherine walk in with a grim look, and he was instantly on alert. Grim looks meant grim news, which meant '_bye bye, good mood!_'.

"James, do you realize how much you've been working lately?" she asked, with no preamble. "Well, the head of the lab has decided it's been too much, and therefore, has insisted that you take a six month leave of absence. You're first day off will be July thirty first, and you can come back on January 25th. Good luck with your DNA samples," she said quickly, dashing out of the room.

What was up with her?

James was a little upset at having to leave, as anyone would be. What was he supposed to do for six months? Hibernate?

On the drive home, James called Andron, and explained everything to him. Andron laughed, a little too cruelly in James' opinion.

"You have NO excuse now, buddy!" he shouted gleefully. "Now you have to go help your grandfather!" James hung up as Andron's laughter lasted over three minutes.

And thus, James wrote a letter to the old man, and called Fawkes to him. He waited patiently for the amazing creature to appear, and when he did, he landed on James' shoulder.

"Hey there, Fawkes. Can you take this to Dumbledore for me, please?" asked James, handing the letter to the phoenix. Fawkes gave a musical cry of happiness and disappeared.

The next month seemed to drag on for James.

* * *

**Reposted 12/5/09**


	8. Slowly Getting There

**Prodigy****  
Chapter 8**

* * *

**Jul. 4, 2007**

Albus Dumbledore was the happiest man on earth. He was certain of this. No one could persuade him otherwise. He called a meeting of the Order as soon as he had gotten his grandsons letter.

He waited, a bit impatiently, for all of them to arrive at Grimmauld Place, Order headquarters. The people who showed up earliest saw him nearly busting with such happiness, they almost assumed Voldemort had been killed. They looked at each other questioningly, but kept their silence.

When the last person came in, Albus noticed with a bit of confusion that it was Sirius Potter. "He can't be in here," Albus said, pointing to the 'hero'. The Potter's, and everyone else, looked slightly alarmed.

"Headmaster, Sirius is seventeen in a month. Give him a break," James Sr. said, sounding as if Albus' feelings were not important.

"I don't care if he's seventeen, or seventy, he's not out of school. I made that rule during the First War, and it will not be set aside now." When he saw that nobody would be swayed, Albus smirked.

And when Albus Dumbledore smirked, people had reason to be afraid.

"Fine. Let him stay. He'll lose sleep over it, not me," Albus said, coldly. He then smiled brightly. "James has agreed to help the Order!" he announced happily. The blank looks he got angered him, just slightly. "My grandson, James."

"He's the same age as Sirius, why can he join?" Lily protested. Albus turned a look on her, and she shrank down slightly in her seat.

"James completed school four years ago. That puts him at the equivalent of twenty-one, to our school system. He, of course, is the smartest person I've ever spoken to. And he can do damn near anything. Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, even muggle things. He's a doctor, and a scientist. He's studied law, medicine, languages, history, and just about anything else in the book. Sirius, how do you put someone in a Fully Body-Bind?" barked Albus.

Sirius got this confused, '_why should I know_' kind of look. His godfather, Sirius Black, answered, "_Petrificus Totalus_," smugly.

"Plus, James is closer to the cure for lycanthrope than anyone I've ever met, Severus included. No offense, Severus. He will be a great asset in this war, and will likely determine the outcome," Albus explained, as if talking to unruly three year olds. James Sr. sat up straighter, looking too smug.

"But our little Sirius will be the one to kill Voldemort," he said, beaming at his son.

"The prophecy never was name specific, James. We have no actual proof that Sirius stopped the curse, and not Harry, I mean, James," Albus said harshly. James looked like he had been slapped.

"But the scar, Sirius has it-"

"On his hand," Albus finished. "Yes, we know. Yet, Har-_James_ has one on his head. What are the odds of Voldemort using the curse on a hand, rather than the head. Think of it, James. What special powers does Sirius really have? Can he do wandless magic? Can he cast spells silently? Can he speak to snakes? Is his power above average?" James Sr. looked outraged, and he stood up, facing his father in law with something akin to hatred.

"Why would I want my son to speak to snakes? The filthy, slimy-"

"Actually, James, snakes are not slimy. And James has all the talents I have listed. Voldemort, also, could do this. Since parseltongue does not run in my family, or Minerva's, or yours, that ability must have come from an outside source!" roared Albus.

"I did not give up the wrong son!" James bellowed back. The rest of the Order stared in silence. Sirius Potter looked shocked, hurt, and confused.

"You mean, if I hadn't've stopped You-Know-Who, and Harry had, you would have given _me_ up?" To Albus, it looked like Sirius was realizing just what his twin had been through. "That's sick. You're sick. Sick, and twisted, and cruel! My brother could have ended up with a family like the Malfoy's! Or worse! Instead, he lived in an orphanage! You two are horrible parents!" Sirius screamed, leaving the room, and letting the door slam.

James and Lily sat in shock. Lily finally started sobbing.

"James, how could you have done that to little Harry? He was your son!" Molly Weasley screeched. Albus felt a bit bad for his son in law. Molly had been known to go on for hours. Fawkes appeared right in front of Albus, startling a great many people. Alastor Moody attempted to curse the poor phoenix. Albus took the letter from his long time friend, and Fawkes left.

He scanned the letter, and then looked over his glasses at the people seated in the room.

"James is bringing his friend, Andron, with him. Apparently, this Andron kid has studied, and mastered, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Mathematics. All this before he was fourteen. That's a fourth year. This is beyond even my comprehension. Intelligence like this shows up once in a great while, and we have the chance to have two people of that level working with us." Albus looked down at the letter once more. "They well be here sometime between July Thirty first, and August twentieth, '_depending on how long the partying and hang-overs last_'," Albus quoted.

"Hang-over?" Lily asked. "Why is my baby drinking?"

"He'll be seventeen by then, and he's been drinking since he was eleven," Albus absently noted. Lily seemed to stop breathing, and Albus looked at her coldly. "You gave him up ten years before that. You have absolutely no claim over him. None whatsoever."

* * *

**Aug. 15, 2007**

It was August fifteenth when James and Andron apparated to Hogsmeade. Andron looked excited, while James looked somewhat torn. He did not know whether to be happy about the research, or angry with his family. He settled on neutral. Neutral _always_ worked.

They trekked up to the castle, slowly. James was reading as he walked, and Andron was playing with a rubix cube. He finished it ten times by the time they reached the castle.

"These things are boring!" he said, aggravated. The castle doors swung open, and someone James easily recognized was standing there. His grandmother.

"Hello, Harry," she said evenly.

"James." She ignored this, and turned to Andron.

"I don't believe we've met. I am professor McGonagall. Who might you be?" she asked, her tone still even.

"Andron Schwarz," he replied, matching her tone. She nodded.

"We're having a staff meeting just now, if you'd like to join us."

She led them to what they assumed to be the staff room. The room had fifteen to twenty people in it, ranging from miniscule to giant. It was quite a sight. The room went quiet as they stepped inside.

Both were dressed in normal muggle street clothes. James was wearing baggy light blue jeans, a sleeveless green t-shirt, and a black baseball hat, backwards.

Andron was wearing baggy blue jeans, a sleeveless blue t-shirt, and a white baseball cap, backwards. Both had tattoos up and down their arms. The earrings did not seem to go over well, either.

They made quite a sight to the traditionalist wizards.

"Sup?" Andron asked, breaking the silence. It was met with a moment of silence.

" 'Sup'?" a man with black hair, eyes, and robes asked. He turned to Dumbledore. "And you said they were smart." Andron let out a growl.

"I've learned not to act smart, because people generally don't understand a fucking word I say. I speak in formulas and riddles, man. So, go jump into a blackhole," snapped and irate Andron. James let out a small sigh.

"Must you always be the antagonist, And?" James asked. Andron nodded. "Belligerent asshole," James said fondly.

They were introduced to the staff, and listened to some strange comments about new rules and students, before the meeting was over. James and Lily Potter made a beeline for him. James stood his ground and glared fiercely.

"One of you had better be dying for you to approach me," he growled. "If only _then_ to tell me the good news." The hatred in his voice made them stop in shock.

"Harry, we-"

"Call me that wretched name _once_ more, and I'm offing both of you," promised James. They deflated almost comically, and left the room.

"And I'm belligerent?" James made a silencing motion, and Andron grinned. James rolled his eyes. Dumbledore walked over to him, smiling brightly. He led them to his office, which was warm and welcoming.

"Now, we have to think of something to do about your name. It's bad enough having two going by 'Sirius', but I couldn't take another pair," Dumbledore said, after offering them tea. Andron had never had tea in his life, and quickly found he liked it, consuming six or seven cups.

"Easy. I'm James, and he's Twat Waffle."

"_James!_" exclaimed Dumbledore, alarmed. "Such vulgar language!"

James raised an eyebrow, then grinned. " 'Twat' obviously has a much different meaning for you than it does for me," James said. "You even say it differently. You say 'a' I say 'ah'," explained James. "To me, it means an idiot. Get your mind out of the gutter, you sick old man." Dumbledore's beard twitched and both were sure he was trying not to smile.

The meeting went like that, with Dumbledore saying something, and one of the two boys making something dirty out of it. He eventually told them that they could choose where to room, and that they would have the same power as any of the staff. They could give and take points, and assign detention. James was just fine with that.

He also asked the two of them to keep watch over the castle as best they could. They would ride the Hogwarts express to London, and back, to ensure safety.

"Oh, but the almighty savior will be there. Won't they be safe?" James asked innocently. His grandfather glared at him. "Fine, we'll go. But if one of those imbeciles get themselves blown up, I have no part in the responsibility!"

* * *

**9/1/07**

September first rolled around, and James and Andron left for Kings Cross. They were the two tallest people on the platform, and therefore stood out. They boarded the train, glaring at everyone. They had dressed in their most intimidating muggles clothes. Tattoos fully visible, too.

They entered the prefect's carriage, and glared at the assembled students. They went silent, seeing two unknown scary looking men walk in.

"Hello. My name is James Potter. This is Andron Schwarz. We're here as security for the train, and therefore, your superiors. If you seen anything suspicious, give us a patronus massage-"

"How do you expect us to do a Patronus?" exclaimed a lanky red headed boy. James glared at him.

"Are you telling me that you're seventeen, and you can't do a simple Patronus?" James lazily flicked his left hand, producing a silver mist in the shape of a phoenix. "Easy as Pi. If you can't do that, scream bloody murder with a Sonorus charm. The two of us will be patrolling the train. I expect this to be a safe trip," James sneered. "Carry on."

They walked out of the compartment, and started helping the younger years onto the train. They looked terrified at first, but one of the two would crack a joke, and the kids warmed up to them, laughing along with them.

The trip was going smoothly, and they were almost there and nothing had happened. That was always good. An hour before the estimated time of arrival, the train came to a screeching halt, in the middle of nowhere.

"Shit," James muttered. The lights went out, causing mass panic. James amplified his voice. "SILENCE!" he bellowed. It went silent. "Good. Everybody remain in your compartment, and use the strongest locking charms you know. NOW!"

James felt Dementors close by. Lovely. He pressed the phoenix pendent his grandfather had given him, for just this purpose. Help would be there soon, then. The Dementors got on the train, and both James and Andron cast a Patronus.

James then let out another three or four, as did Andron. Keeping multiple Patroni up was hard, and magically taxing. They each kept their five up for fifteen minutes, and eventually the Dementors were fleeing.

Then the Aurors showed up. James rounded on them like a madman.

"Thanks for all the bloody help, you stupid rookies! You just got showed up by two seventeen year olds! If it hadn't been for us, all of this generation of students would have been wiped out, you shit for brains!" roared James. The Aurors cowered before the boy who was glowing pure white, even his green eyes were glowing unnaturally.

"How were we supposed to get here?" shouted one man, obviously oblivious to the danger he had put himself in. "It's not like you sent us a message, we got here as fast as we could. Don't blame us for-"

"Leave, you stupid son of a bitch," James ordered. They man looked shocked, then pulled himself to his full height, which was two inches short of James.

Everyone was talking about the two powerful people who had saved the day. They slowly filled the hall, trickling in by twos and threes. Albus gleaned information from the students, and he was alarmed by what he heard.

"Hundreds of them!" Ernie Macmillan was saying, loudly. "Just swarmed the train! I thought we were done for sure! Who were those two people, anyway? I'd like in on some of _their_ power. . ."

Albus didn't know for sure, but he assumed that Ernie was talking about Dementors. Those were the only 'swarming' things that came to mind. Death Eaters _attack_, they don't _swarm_. When all of the students were settled, he gave the signal for Minerva to bring in the first years.

They came in, shaking and nervous, just like every year. Although, there was decidedly less of them that year. It seemed that parents weren't trusting Hogwarts that year. Albus watched the sorting, and sighed when the last first year sat down. He stood up, smiling slightly.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," he started lightly. "This year will be difficult for everyone, as most of you can imagine. Your head of house will explain new rules after the feast, and punishments will be taken much more seriously. As most of you know, due to the Hogwarts grapevine, I was forced to expel three students last year. It was the first time I've ever had to expel anyone," Albus said gravely. "They've had their wands snapped, and will no longer be allowed to study or use magic."

Somber silence fell over the hall, remembering the three students who had been found with Dark Mark's, breaking into Dumbledore's office. A fourth, fifth, and seventh year had been expelled.

"On a lighter note," Dumbledore continued, "we have two guests to the castle this year. I'm sure you've heard of them, they were on the train this morning. They are here to aid our fight against Voldemort, and to help protect the school. While they are here-" A loud, obnoxious voice from the Entrance Hall interrupted him.

"Arrogant pricks!" Albus recognized the voice as his grandson, James. "How dare they even _attempt_ to question me! Then to challenge me to a duel! I trained with the best and brightest! Who trained that twit? A chicken? He dropped like yesterdays trash! Yet he's the head Auror?" James sounded a _bit_ mad. The doors opened, revealing James and Andron, who, actually, looked amused at his friend's anger. It was when James' comments became more lewd that Andron stopped him.

"Dude, little kids," he pointed out. James stopped talking, and his face became impassive.

"Honestly, they know exactly what I'm talking about. They're eleven, for the love of science. Isn't that when you lost your virginity?"

"What do you think I am? A whore? I was twelve, thank you."

"Wasn't she your cousin?" James asked lightly.

"Man, fuck you, you arrogant fuck. Yeah, half of Oaktown is my cousins, but she was from the other half. I'm not speaking to you now."

"It's my lucky day. . ." James muttered, sitting to the Headmaster's right. The Deputy Headmistress looked a bit put out, having been bumped from her seat. James really could not find it in his heart to care.

Ever since James had gotten there, the woman had been unnaturally cold towards him. Fine then, James did not like her anyway.

"As I was saying, while they are here, they are to be treated with the utmost respect, and they have the power to meddle with House Points, and assign detentions. Let me introduce Mr. Andron Schwarz, and Mr. James Potter. . . " he trailed off as he saw the confusion in the hall.

James Potter was the Defense teacher, was he not?

"James Potter junior, that is. To make it easier, the older one is 'Professor Potter' and the younger one is 'Mr. Potter'. Now, let's eat!" Albus said, making food appear on the table with a signal to the house elves.

"_**Hallelujah**_!" Ron Weasley shouted, grabbing a platter of fried chicken and dumping half of it on his plate. Albus smiled softly as he looked out at the hall. Some of the students were so innocent, still wet behind the ears, really. Others were entrenched in the coming war, ready to fight and die for their side, whichever that may be.

It saddened Albus, to know that some of these students might not be sitting there at the end of the year.

"Fifty one point seven six!" Andron suddenly yelled, startling Albus and causing him to drop his fork with a loud clatter. "Fifty one point seven six? That's disgusting!" James made a revolted noise in the back of his throat.

"It brings whole new meaning to the phrase 'fuck your mother', that's for sure," he said. "Are you quite sure it's not five point one seven six?" James asked sarcastically.

"I've been multiplying thirty digit numbers in my head since I was six, Potter. There is NO such thing as error," growled Andron. Albus heard James chuckle.

"Well, considering you just decided the inbreeding ratio at fifty one point seven six? When the average is somewhere closer to between _point_ five and three? Does that not seem sick to you?" James asked, piling mashed potatoes on his plate.

"Those poor, poor Malfoy's."

"Don't you know it. The youngest, well, considering those numbers, the likelihood of him being able to spawn anything is considerably low. Somewhere near zero. Unless he marries a halfblood, of course. Halfbloods generally have a lower inbreeding ratio," James said. Albus had suddenly frozen, staring at the youngest Malfoy, Draco, in horror.

"Then again. . . never mind. What did you get for the Weasley's?" Andron asked. James took a bite of chicken.

"Twelve point nine one. Younger family, though, too. If they continue to marry only purebloods, in a few generations, they'll be up there with the Malfoy's. It's almost sad. I say almost because I find it funny, too," James said, snickered quietly. "Silly purebloods."

"Purebloodaphobic, much?" Andron asked. Albus was becoming slightly confused, listening to the people on either side talk across him.

" 'Phobic' implies fear. Fearing a pureblood is the same as fearing a muggle born. They're equal. I just don't like pureblood _idealists_. Psycho quacks crave nothing more than anarchy and war. I say we take 'em all out and kill 'em execution style," James growled.

"Execution style? Bullet to the back of the head? How irrefutably boring! You tie cement to the legs and toss them overboard, James," Andron said. James started choking on his chicken, but swallowed it after a second.

"How very mafia of you, And," James said. "Especially in an age where lethal injection is available. You actually get to watch them twitch that way."

"Gas chamber."

"Electric chair."

"Mercy blade."

"Hanging."

There was silence for a moment, after James' last suggestion.

"Stake!" they both proclaimed. "_Fire created by magic, for magic_!" Apparently, this was some long running joke, because both of them laughed slightly.

The day one of them issued an all out belly laugh was the day Albus bought his plot in the graveyard, for surely the world was ending.

* * *

**Reposted 12/5/09**


	9. Painfully Staying There

**Chapter 9: Painfully Staying There**

There you go, Lauren. I updated, just for you. Now it's your turn, because I've turned out TWO since your last update. (Pretend you can see my evil glare.)

**A short note!:** I had a dream, the other night (okay, three weeks ago) that the Harry/James of this story was a very stereotypically gay man, and very, very. . . feminine design chick, I guess. I dreamt he had a problem with the cooking at Hogwarts, and he solved it by showing Hogwarts what _real_ food was. (Suffice it to say, he was wearing a frilly pink apron in my dream).

I wasn't going to add it, but then I looked at what I had planned, and decided a fluffy humor bit was necessary.

The story is going to speed up within a chapter or two, so…

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

The feast came to an end, and Albus rose once more to give out more notices. When he was done, the students left, and the heads followed them to outline the new rules. Andron stood up and went to the concealed door to the left of the head table that would take him to his rooms that he shared with James.

"See you in twelve hours, James," he mocked.

"Asshole."

"Twelve hours?" Albus asked, watching his grandson stand.

"We're taking research in shifts of twelve hours. Eight to eight. I take nights, he takes days." James started walking out of the hall, towards the dungeon, when Albus realized what he had said.

"_Twelve hours_? You cannot work that long! When will you eat and sleep?" Albus asked, following him. James shot him an impatient look.

"I worked sixteen at the lab. I'm thinking of picking up a shift at the L.A. lab, to fill the _obnoxious_ excess of free time I'll soon have. It's appalling, really. Twelve hours to do what? Sit and watch grass grow? I think not. I, unlike some, do not enjoy merely wasting away, doing pointless activities such as relaxation, or other such nonsense," sneered James, descending to the potions lab of the dungeon.

"You spend hours getting drunk and discussing methods of execution!" accused Albus. He was not quite sure why he was following James into the lab.

"Time spent wasted is never wasted time," said James. He was filling a cauldron with water, and setting a flame. He was cutting up Wolfsbane.

"Do you hate me?" Albus blurted. The meticulous slicing halted for only a moment.

"Hate is a very strong word, a word that should be use with great caution, and only in the direst of circumstances-" Albus walked forward and grabbed James by his shoulders, forcing the younger man to face him.

"Do you hate me, James?" he was, his tone both pleading and hesitant. He wanted to know, _needed to know_, but at the same time, he could not bear to know. His grandson looked at him steadily, Wolfsbane forgotten.

"When I was four, I was apprenticed to Drake Herr, the American equivalent of you. He taught me Occlumency, an art I excelled at. It was after two years of organizing, reorganizing, and examining my mind that I found my earliest memories. You holding me is the earliest memory I have. I remember, in the memory, both Lily and James fawning over little Sirius. Even so, you, _the oddest man I've ever come across_, were holding _me_. I remember the look of utter adoration in your eyes, and the scathing looks sent at you by the rest of the people in the room. You ignored all of this, in favor of holding me," James voice was becoming shaky at this point.

"You actually remember me?" Albus asked, shocked. James grinned, a carefree grin that made Albus smile.

"I remember you teaching me how to say my first word," James said. Albus laughed.

"Child, you didn't roll, you _crawled_, you didn't walk, you _ran_. I taught you how to say a word, and you went and spoke a sentence!" Albus said merrily. "I never expected anything less than greatness from you, and you have proved me right time and time again," Albus said softly.

James, for the first time since Albus had seen him for the first time in fifteen years, showed an obvious, open, and deep emotion. Shock, fear, surprise, and hope. The emotions cleared from his face in an instant, but they _had_ been there.

"James, do you hate me?" Albus asked, once more.

"I never hated you. You, out of all of them, were the only one that wanted me. You protested me being put up for adoption. You tried to find me. Damn, I think you're the only one I _don't_ hate." Albus felt like he could take on a herd of giants without magic.

His grandson did not hate him.

Without thinking, Albus pulled his grandson into a hug, barely noticing the young man tense. He did, however, notice James relax, and wrap his arms around Albus' neck. They stayed like that for a few moments, before Albus pulled away and peered at James closely. They young man's eyes were suspiciously bright.

"That was strange," James said. He went back to painstakingly slicing the Wolfsbane.

"What was strange?" Albus asked calmly. James was silent for a second, and the torches in the room seemed to glow brighter for a moment, filling the room with a brief moment of brilliant light.

"That, that was strange," said James. "I just opened up to you in ten minutes, more than I have to Andron in ten years. It's just strange, alright? I do not usually tell people what I think of them. They have to figure it out for themselves. They are usually unable to do so." Albus stood there for a few moments, before putting a hand on the young man's shoulder, and then walking out of the dungeon.

He was completely confused, not knowing what James had meant. Albus did not know why James had chosen to trust him. It is not like he'd been there for any part of James' life.

As Albus walked back to his office, he thought about Harry as a small child. He could remember watching him and Sirius, while Lily and James were on missions. Sirius would play on the floor with brightly colored toys.

Harry would sit with Albus, and watch him write letters, or would sit and listen to Albus read. Albus did not have any children's books, the kinds with happy subjects like princes and cute little puppies, but he did have advanced transfiguration books.

When Harry was twelve months old, Albus began teaching him how to read simple words. Harry could almost say the alphabet, and could recognize some words by memory. The proudest day in Albus' life was the day Harry started using a quill to write simple words. He was only fourteen months old.

Albus sat at his desk, and stared at a picture until he fell asleep in the chair.

James got a sudden bad feeling as he bent over the cauldron, stirring the murky contents. He was not quite sure what he was brewing, but it was close to the contents of the Wolfsbane Potion. He was attempting to make a potion that would cure Lycanthrope, but at this point, he was shooting in the dark.

James turned around and picked up a vial from behind him, when the bad feeling in his stomach doubled. The cauldron blew up, covering him in deadly substances. He hurried to clean up, before the blue-ish potion killed him.

The rest of the night went rather well, aside from the large burn James got on his left forearm. At eight in the morning, James walked up to breakfast, the pain in his arm doubling as he sat down. Andron sat next to him, slapping his back.

"Tired?" Andron asked. They both started filling their plates with food.

"I don't get tired, Andron, and you know that. 'Tired' is a state of mind," James said.

"No, but you _do_ get burned. What happened to your arm?" Andron asked. James shrugged.

"Minor mishap, you know. My arm hair got a little too close to the flame, and it went up," James said. Andron grabbed the arm, and looked at it.

"Man, the scar will be awesome! You damn near burned off a tattoo. I told you that you need to keep your fur on watch," Andron said, rolling his eyes. James pulled his arm away, growling. "This wouldn't happen if you were like me, and stayed far away from any and all hands on experiments. I stay well and safe away from any and all accidents, explosions, and mishaps."

"Yes, and you constantly look like a pansy, too," James said. "Of course, you are a Mathematician. . ." he laughed. "It comes with the territory, I suppose."

"Oh _hell_ nah," Andron snapped, standing up. "Do you want to take this outside?" James laughed, not looking at him.

"Wanna take it to the basketball court?" James asked, arrogantly. Andron's jaw dropped, and he huffed. He started walking away.

"I'm going to the library! If you need me," Andron said, halfway out of the slowly filling hall, "call one-eight-hundred-_Blow-Me_!" he growled. James shook his head, and some of the students in the hall looked appalled, not to mention the early rising teachers.

After his mid afternoon snack, James left Hogwarts to do some shopping, and to go talk to a man he knew in Los Angeles. As he was walking out of the castle, into the bright outside world, his brother Sirius stopped him.

"Um, Harry- _James_?" Sirius asked, uncertainly, catching up to him just outside the castle. James turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Sirius?" he asked. Sirius looked a bit nervous, and he shifted from foot to foot.

"Could we talk? At dinner? Seventh Years are allowed to go to Hogsmeade for the evening meal, so. . ." he said. James looked at his anxious face and cloudy eyes, and instantly agreed. Sirius looked relieved, and bid James a good day.

After James had picked up the six different Advanced Arithmancy books for Andron, and four restricted books on ancient magic, James headed to Los Angeles. He could not quite apparate that far yet, so he took three Portkeys. It was much less magically taxing that way.

He had learned that with his mentor, Drake Herr. Not through a mistake of his own, but the older man's. When he was ten, they had been dueling, after Herr had apparated from New York to Irvine, where he and James met.

The man had been so worn out, James had easily kicked his ass. James had never let him forget it. In fact, he brought it up every time he talked to Drake Herr.

He made it to Los Angeles, and ended up in the FBI office, talking to Don and Charlie Eppes. Don was an agent with the FBI, and his brother, Charlie, was a brilliant mathematician. They were brothers, but there was some strange tension between them that James easily picked up on.

Math was not his strong point, but he and Charlie were instantaneously in a complicated conversation, that would easily make other peoples head spin. It certainly made Don look uncomfortable.

"So, how old are you, James?" Don asked, during a break in the conversation.

"I'm seventeen," James said, carefully. They looked surprised, as if a seventeen year old could not be that smart. Then Don sighed.

"Oh damn. Another one. Charlie, I've had a long day, I'm going home. I'll see you later," Don said, walking away.

James and Charlie continued talking, and James managed to get a small part time piece with the FBI. Since he was done at Hogwarts at eight, and there was an eight-hour difference in time, so if he left Hogwarts at eight, he'd get to LA at one in the morning. One to eight, and he'd be back in England at four, just in time to go to sleep, and be up by eight. It was a tight schedule, one that James would be happy to keep. It was only four days a week, though, so three days would still be pretty empty.

James was back to Hogwarts by lunch, and he sat next to Andron at the staff table. He handed over the rare books, and Andron grinned.

"These must have cost a fortune!" Andron yelled.

"A pittance, really," James replied, waving it off.

"No, no, James, these must have cost hundreds!" the other boy persisted. "Why did you get them for me?"

"Because you're my friend, and you've wanted them since you were seven," James said. He took a deep breath. "And if I had to go one more day hearing you _whine_, I was going to beat you upside the head with a sock full of oranges."

"But it must have cost-"

"It cost nine hundred and ten dollars!" growled James. "So you'd damn well better read them!"

"I don't whine, James," Andron huffed.

"And I don't breath," James muttered.

"Ass," Andron barked, hiding his grin. The two of them spent more than half of their time together taunting each other.

"Man whore," was the biting counter. Andron growled threateningly.

"Halfblood!" was his witty retort. James raised an eyebrow, not noticing the teachers, and some students looking at them.

"Mamas boy."

"Orphan!"

"Math Nerd!"

"Science Geek!" They stared at each other, daring the other to say it. They spoke at the same time.

"TREKKIE!" they snapped together. They were each trying to come up with something original, that had not been used before.

"If a certain number, two thirds of it, half of it, and a seventh of it are added together, the result is 97. What's the number?" Andron asked, his tone rushed.

"Forty two!" James snapped back the answer. "What is the average length of hair growth for a period of thirty days!?"

"One point five centimeters!" Andron said. "What's the square of ninety nine?"

"Nine thousand, eight hundred and one. The Square root is nine point nine five," James smugly answered. "Howmuchwoodwouldawoodchuckchuckifawoodchuckcouldchuckwood?" James said at an alarming pace.

"Ifawoodchuckcouldchuckwouldhewoulddchuckasmuchwoodashecould!" Andron said, just as fast. "How many minutes in a year?"

"Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred," James replied instantly. "How many minutes in a year _on Neptune_?"

"I think that's enough, boys," Dumbledore said, having arrived at the beginning. James smirked triumphantly at Andron.

"Ha, I win!"

"You do not, you cheated!" Andron protested. He looked ready to dump his plate of salad on James' head.

"I do not cheat!" yelled James. "I creatively exaggerate the rules for my own benefit when it suits my needs at the moment that the creative exaggerating of the rules for my own benefit occurs," he said calmly. "If you need me, I'll be sleeping. Or doing something productive." James excused himself from the table, walking towards his rooms. "By the way, And, I got the job with the FBI."

"If everyone had half the luck he does. . ." Andron muttered as he rushed to the library.

James woke up in time for dinner, and he walked through the Great Hall, into the Entrance Hall. He passed his brother on the way out.

"Let's go, kid," he said, not even stopping. Sirius fell into step next to him, but he struggled to keep up with James' longer strides. The walk to Hogsmeade was silent, but not awkward. At least, it wasn't for James. He was perfectly content to be in the fresh air.

They passed the gate, and as soon as they were out of site of the castle, James looked at the nearest Auror, winked, and then grabbed Sirius' arm. He then apparated away, leaving the whole of the Hogwarts community in an uproar.

Andron growled in frustration as the stupid Order members refused to listen to him. After ten minutes of their whining and crying and yelling, he stood up.

"_Shut up_!" he bellowed. The effect was immediate, and almost comic. People got really quite. "Thank you. Now, as the only friend of the person who apparated away with your hero, do you think it would be a good idea to listen to me? Yes, it would be. Sirius is in no danger. I repeat, he's in _no danger_!" Andron barked.

"But-" Andron made a silencing motion with his hand, like a music conductor. He almost felt bad for shutting up the owner of the office, and leader of the meeting, in such a rude way, but only almost.

"No. Dumbledore, James trusts you, don't blow it. Now, Sirius asked to speak to James during dinner. I can guarantee you that they are simply having dinner. How easy is it to take your son out to dinner, Mrs. Potter? Not quite, I'd imagine. They're most likely at some out of the way, mom and pop, established eighteen ninety six 'Texas Barbeque', in Illinois. Understand?" Andron asked.

"But he took a student without permission," Lily said sharply.

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

James sat across from the wide-eyed Sirius, smiling a little. He had taken his brother to an expensive restaurant in Vegas, in a high priced casino. He ordered two prime ribs, and Sirius' eyes widened even more when he saw the prices.

"Not a word," James threatened in a joking manner. While they were waiting for their dinners, they talked about unimportant subjects like Quidditch and girls. When the food came, James cleared his throat, and picked up his knife. "So, what is it you needed to talk to me about?" Sirius warily eyes the very sharp steak knife, weighing his answer.

"Why are you so smart?" Sirius asked. If anything, James would have expected jealousy to accompany a question like that, but it was nothing more than simple curiosity. "I mean, why you?"

"Our grandfather taught me to read at a very young age, thirteen months, and I just never stopped. Before you ask, no, he didn't teach you, because you were never interested. You liked blocks, I liked books. Any other questions?" James asked kindly.

"Do you hate me?" That one threw James off. He looked up from his dinner for a moment, and caught site of his brothers innocent and hopeful face. He weighed his answer with extreme care, not wanting it to sound rude.

"Partly. You're my _twin_, Sirius. We share a bond that most people couldn't ever imagine, one so deep that death itself can't break it. I love you because of that. No matter what you ever do to me, I'd die for you without thinking on it." James paused to take a deep breath, and saw Sirius looking confused. "Yet I do not like what you've become. You're cocky and arrogant, and rather unkind to those you deem below yourself," James said.

Sirius looked shocked, so much so that he nearly dropped his fork, catching it only just in time. "You may well have just described Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy, I know of him. Inbred, he is. His family is Dark. There is the difference, Sirius. Both of you are cocky, arrogant, and rather unkind to inferiors. But you fight for the Light, do you not? Of course you do. When we were little, you always shared everything you had with me. I know you're still capable of changing, Sirius. We're only seventeen after all. While I'm rather set in my ways, being perfect and all, you can change for the better." James laughed when a napkin hit him in the face.

A man in a well-tailored suit interrupted them.

"Enjoying your meal, James?" his baritone voice intoned. James looked up, and saw a long time acquaintance.

"Jerry, how are you these days? And your father?" James asked.

"I'm great, my dad died of liver failure two months ago," Jerry said in his monotone. James nodded.

"That's too bad. Good man, he was. Ran a good casino, too. I take it you took it over?" James asked. Jerry smiled, barely showing a gold tooth.

"That I did." Jerry turned towards the front. "Waiter, a bottle of our finest champagne for our _favourite_ diner!" he called loudly.

The waiter rushed over, and Jerry took his leave. The man in black and white poured two glasses and left the bottle, becoming extremely helpful by asking if they needed anything, and explaining that the meal had been comp-ed.

James and Sirius toasted, and drank the champagne. Sirius only had the one glass, while James finished the bottle by the end of the night.

"We were talking?" James prompted, making Sirius looked at him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Our parents shouldn't have given you up. I always thought they had a reason, and that it was logical. Then I put myself in your place, and I realized it was wrong. I wouldn't have wanted to grow up in an orphanage, without parents or anything. I asked them if they would have given me up, had it been you. Their looks told me everything. It really was a flip of a hat, you know, that I ended up with our parents." Sirius took a deep breath. "Especially considering the fact that you're actually the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

This time James dropped his fork.

*********

"Hey, he took his brother out to dinner. At least they're working on a relationship," Andron pointedly snapped. "Personally, I'm a little sad I wasn't invited. They'll be back by eight, alright? It's seven thirty."

"And we're back!" Sirius said, walking into the Headmaster's office, the site of the impromptu meeting. James walked in behind him, smirking. "Mom, that was awesome!" Sirius gushed, standing behind his mom's chair. "James took me to a casino, and we ate at a steak house, the prime rib was bloody brilliant! It was the most fun I've ever had in my life! Why on earth did you give him up? He's awesome!" Sirius said. It had been hard for him to forgive his parents, it had taken weeks, but after talking with James, he knew he couldn't really blame them, not if his brother didn't.

"You exaggerate," James said, mocking bashfulness. Sirius started to get his fathers patented evil look in his eyes.

"Yeah, Mom, James even let me drink," Sirius said. Andron looked hurt at this, until James handed him a full bottle of vodka, and Andron smiled happily like a boy at Christmas. "Granted, I had a glass, and he had _the bottle_."

"In my defense, it wasn't an exceedingly _large_ bottle." James looked at his watch and hummed impatiently. "It's almost eight, I'll be in a library."

He walked out of the door, and many people realized just how complicated this situation was. James walked back in, looking like he'd forgotten something.

"Sorry, just remembered. . ." he lifted Remus sleeve, pulled out a syringe, and stuck the werewolf. "Need a bit of blood to run some tests. Lupin, get lots of sleep, eat healthy, and take a blood replenishing potion once every morning until I say otherwise. You're going to go through a lot of blood in the next five months. Sorry, you're the only test subject I have."

James took a syringe of blood, and smiled politely, if not in a strained manner. He took his leave with that. Remus looked shocked, unable to believe a seventeen year old had just walked up and taken his blood; without so much as a 'by the way' beforehand! It was strange.

Andron gave his best 'I-Am-Smarter-Than-You' smirk, and strode out the door.

Both boys continued to work twelve-hour days, which worried Albus immensely. Especially since James was working in the States, too. Four days a week, he worked twenty hours. Too much, in Albus' opinion.

Yet he did not seem to be showing any adverse effects from overwork, as Albus would have expected. Andron was the same. Both were constantly bright and chipper; only getting four hours of sleep a day. It would have driven most other people mad.

After another two weeks, it was nearly impossible to pry books away from the two young men. They were constantly bickering over things that did not even make sense to Albus, like DNA and mathematical formulas.

"That's too much Wolfsbane!" Andron protested to James one morning at breakfast time.

"It is not. It's merely more than recommended," James replied, loading his plate with steak.

"It's enough to kill a pack of werewolves!" As he spoke, Andron poked James on the shoulder.

"Aye, and I'm trying to kill a werewolf, while leaving the man alive. You must think of it as two separate spirits in the same body. The man is dominant most of the time, the wolf is dominant only during a full moon. We must kill the wolf, while not killing the man. That means that the potion must be given to the wolf," James explained.

"Oh, well _that_ makes sense. If you want to _die_!" Andron roared. "You're insane, you know that?"

"That's the fun of life, And," James said. "Can't have genius without a bit of madness." James stood up, and began walking to his rooms, through a small chamber attached to the Great Hall.

"But it's supposed to be proportionate! You're just damn crazy!"

"That I am," James chuckled lightly.

Dinner that night was even more eventful. The two were fighting over how to procure a certain ingredient for the potion, one that was apparently hard to get.

"I can't just walk up to a random man on the street and say, 'hey, can I get a pound?', Andron. I don't have the look for it," James said quietly. Albus was listening intently, and had gone unnoticed thus far.

"No, because you're a little white boy," Andron stated simply. "And you look like one, too. But I can't go, because you can do the little changing thing that annoys the hell out of me."

"Metamorphmagus," James said. "And it's your fault you can't do it. I offered to teach you, but _noooooo_, it wasn't an exact enough art for you," James said, laughing at Andron blush.

"I was eight," protested Andron.

"I'll go after dinner," James said. He suddenly looked down at his plate, examining it.

"Am I eating rubber?" he seemed to ask the food itself. He looked over at Andron. "I've just realized what it tastes like. Rubber, I'm eating rubber. It's like a house elf made this," James scoffed. Albus raised an eyebrow.

"House elves do all the cooking and cleaning here, James," he explained to his grandson. James gagged on the eggs he was eating. He spit them into a napkin, and swung around to face Albus.

"Are you telling me that a school that charges two thousand galleons tuition a year uses slave labor for everything!?" James roared. Hermione Granger started clapping, while Ron Weasley and Sirius Potter looked ready to cry. "How the hell do you expect any one of these students to be able to do _anything_ when they leave this school?" James snapped.

"They'll depend on House Elves or their mothers for everything, Dumbledore! You're creating a world of dependent people!" Andron barked.

"Plus House Elves can't cook for dead grass," James said. "And because they cook in bulk, half of the food is conjured! The other half is replicated! That's vile, old man." James looked at the Gryffindor table. "Mr. Weasley, what is the first thing you look forward to when you go home for the holidays?"

"My mum's food. . . oh," Ron Weasley said.

"What is the main ingredient in pasta, Mr. Malfoy?" James asked, turning to the Slytherin table. Draco opened his mouth, realized he had no idea, and shut it. "Pasta, _pasta_ is the main ingredient in pasta." James turned to look at Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow.

"I can't say I agree with you on this. I've eaten meals prepared by house elves for the last eighty years. I see nothing wrong with it," Albus said calmly. James smirked at him, and Albus knew that the smirk on his grandson's face came directly from the boy's father, James. Albus sighed, thinking that they really were going to have to do something about the names.

"Well then, let Andron and I cook. Just breakfast -_grrr_- dinner, tomorrow. I eat breakfast at this time, it's confusing," James said. "And if our meal isn't better, you can continue using your little slave drones."

"And if it is?" Albus asked.

"It will be. If it is, you have the students do meals in rotation. Fifth years do breakfast, sixth years do lunch, and seventh years cook dinner. Fourth year and below can clean. That's simple. That's how it was done at the orphanage, at least," James said shrugging.

"Fine, then, you and Andron may cook the evening meal, then. Do you know where the kitchens are?" Albus asked, making his tone condescending on purpose. James poked his arm, very hard.

"Yes, thank you for asking," he said, smiling innocently. James turned to Andron. "Looks like I'll go shopping now, and then get the, ah, other thing we need," James said. "I'll be back, then.

"What is this other thing, James?" Albus asked, taking hold of his grandsons arm. James grinned.

"Marijuana," he said easily. "It's a bit illegal, though, as it's a hallucinogen, but there's an exception to every law."

"Do you have a piece on you, James?" Andron asked carefully. James pulled his arm free, and began walking away.

"My standard issue, work piece. That's it," he replied.

"You don't think some people _wouldn't_ find it odd that you have a fuzz gun?" Andron asked skeptically.

"Fuzz, yeah, funny. I work in a lab. With a lab coat. And chemicals. And blood. Lots of blood. I don't do drug busting and chasing down criminals. I'm _way_ too pretty for that," James said, smirking and disappearing through the door that led to his shared chambers.

Ten minutes later, a tall man with dark skin and dread locks walked out. He had dark eyes, and a few gold teeth. A thick silver chain hung around his neck, and he wore a strange black cloth on his head.

"Why, Andron," Albus jumped when James' voice came from the man, "is that I have an urge to run through the streets of LA singing '_I Feel Pretty'_?"

"I'd say do it, but you'd be picked up or shot down for sure," Andron replied. The tall man, Albus was sure it was his grandson, began walking towards the Entrance Hall. "Hey, James," Andron said, hurrying around the table, "How good of a shot are you?" he asked curiously.

"With my standard issue, I can hit a beer can from a hundred yards away, And," James said. "When I'm drunk."

"_Damn_!"

"Well, magic helps, but _still_, it's an advantage over the muggles. . ."

Chapter nine. Holy snickerdoodles.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I appreciate them all! I'm so happy people like it!

Any flames will be used to light the torches that are about to hunt down Iheartpiper.

**The rating**. Some of you may be wondering. "Why 'M'? What is this author thinking? Only minor swearing, no romance, nine chapters, and nothing that a twelve year old can't handle!"

Well, think 'blood'. Lots and lots of 'Blood'. I'm not even half done yeat, I'm aiming for twenty chapters. At least.

Carpe Diem!

8/17/07 at 11:35 P.M. Pacific Standard Time. (HA! Twenty five minutes to go, Lauren!)

_**ChipmonkOnSpeed **_


	10. Faithless is he that says farewell:

Mwuahahaha! An update. Haha, you're gunna hate me.

None of the characters belong to me. Well, yeah, Andron kinda does, sorry. Not sure where the idea for him came from. BUT the rest don't. At all. Grey's Anatomy and House will reappear. They story is nearly halfway to the end. Sort of. Perhaps. Maybe. Enjoy!

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was the next time Albus saw James, who had returned to his normal look. He gave Albus a condescending look. 

"I do hope you've been on the look out for new families for your little slaves," James said, winking. He stabbed his steamed broccoli, and grinned when there was more resistance than properly steamed broccoli should provide. "Why, it's half raw."

"There is nothing wrong with the food in my school," Albus said, a bit defensively. "How would you two, at seventeen, be able to cook better than a hundred House Elves?"

"You'll see." James and Andron started towards the kitchen.

"It's eight in the morning, why start dinner now?" Minerva asked.

"Rome wasn't built in a day," Andron said.

"And we don't conjure food, then nuke it with a heating charm. That's why students are so hungry. The food disappears before it's fully digested," James said. He waved his hands, when he was in the middle of the hall, and all the food began glowing a light blue. "Conjured. Man, I amaze even myself sometimes," James said arrogantly. He turned on his heel and continued walking.

Sirius was looking down at his food with a feeling of trepidation. Hermione, next to him, had stopped eating too. They pushed their plates away. Most of the students followed suit, seeing the Head Boy and Girl decide the food was tainted.

"Yeah, that's pretty bad," Sirius said. "I'm fasting till dinner. You can't conjure food and then feed it to people."

Albus sighed as students filed out of the Hall, leaving plates full of food. What was it with 'Sirius's' and 'James's' that made things difficult? Was it the name? Because Albus was good and ready to stop accepting students with those names.

James and Andron took twenty minutes to drain the kitchen of magic. No contamination in James' kitchen.

"What's on the menu, mate?" Andron asked.

"Baked ziti, zuppa Toscana, baked individual eggplant parmesan, beef carpaccio, penne with artichokes and shrimp, creme brulee…" James listed dozens and dozens of other items, making Andron look ready to faint. James named food from every race, religion, nationality, and every part of the time line James liked.

"You've cracked."

James only response was to turn on the radio.

The radio sang annoying pop songs. Andron grinned, and donned an apron.

They worked together in perfect harmony, neither getting in the others way, nor did they speak at all. They just knew what needed to be done. They both heard someone at the door, but one of James' favorite songs came on, so he had to sing it.

"_Wo bist du_?" James sang. He was preparing the crust for one of the pies.

They continued cooking, right through lunch. All of the students were taken down to Hogsmeade for the meal, so the kitchen was theirs till dinner. The smell alone was making them hungry, the whole kitchen was filled with strong aromas from around the world.

They had put a containment charm on the kitchen walls to keep the smell within the kitchen. They would take them down fifteen minutes before the meal was served, just to taunt people.

The could hear people coming back from the village, and James put one song on repeat.

"Oh god."

"Hell yeah!" James said, preparing to make pizza.

Albus, the professors, and all the students were seated in the Great Hall. They could smell the food cooking, and it was driving them crazy. James and Andron entered the Great Hall, smirking knowingly.

They were covered in flour, and wearing aprons that covered the waist down.

"We'd like to take a moment to explain this meal," Andron said, his voice carrying perfectly. "First of all, James and I both attended culinary classes, from ages five to fifteen. We can cook. We hate to say it, professor Dumbledore, but you better start writing some letters to some chefs, because our cooking kicks house elf ass."

"Just bring in the food already!" Ron Weasley shouted. James smiled, and waved his hand.

"Hey, we worked damn near twelve hours on this meal. You can hold on a second. I should have put money on this. Money, millionaire. . . _Ich wär so gerne Millionär Dann wär mein Konto niemals leer Ich wär so gerne Millionär Millionenschwer Ich wär so gerne Millionär_ !" James sang.

"Those fumes went to your head," Andron said. James waved his hand, and the aroma of food increased ten fold, the food appeared on the tables. The tables themselves groaned in protest, not used to holding so much weight. Hundreds of eyes widened,

"Hallelujah!" Ron Weasley cheered. James began walking to his seat next to his grandfather while people started eating. Andron sat down at the Ravenclaw table, much to the surprise of a few sixth years.

James sat down next to the older man, and noticed his father was at the mans right.

"Just how many countries inspired our meal, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked.

"We have twelve dishes from Italy, five from Africa, three from Hawaii, and a couple from Mexico, France, Ireland, Ancient Greece, and dozens of others. All in all, sixty five countries," James replied. "We went a bit overboard, but I won the bet."

"Did you now, James?" Dumbledore asked, looking at the food. "We'll see."

"Albus, you lost," Professor Snape said from down the table. The food had been on the table for less than five minutes, and the man was going for seconds. James saw that Albus looked slightly nervous. The old man tried the food, and he completely and totally froze.

"Oh my," was all he said.

After dinner, Sirius Potter was walking down towards Hagrid's hut, wanting to visit the man. Since it was a warm Saturday night, many students were sitting near the lake, hoping curfew would stay at bay.

It was just too nice outside to be confined to their common rooms.

Sirius reached the hut, and knocked. He started to worry when he received no answer. Sirius walked around back, looking for the half giant, when he was grabbed. Sirius, on instinct, screamed. A hand covered his mouth, and he knew no more.

James saw someone grab his brother, and he heard Sirius scream. By the time his stunning curse reached the spot, his brother had been dragged into the forest. James shot after him, running faster than he'd ever run before. He couldn't see anyone in the forest when he got there.

"Son of a banana!" James yelled, startling the birds out of the trees. He quickly walked up to the castle, and informed the Headmaster. The older man told James to sit down, and then made a couple of firecalls. He sat down across the desk from James, and covered his face with his hands.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Dumbledore said quietly. "There will be a panic, and everyone is going to look to me to find him," Dumbledore said. James leaned back.

"Then let me find him," he said simply. Dumbledore looked pretty surprised, making James laugh like mad. "What? He's my brother, can't I want to save him?"

"James, not even your extensive education could have covered how to infiltrate and escape Voldemort's lair. No, James, I couldn't risk that. Your father, maybe-"

"Aye, good idea. You send him in first, and when he's killed, I'll go in and do it up right," James said callously. "I could have Sirius back in three days." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him. James mimicked the gesture, doing it even better.

"Fine, then. I'll leave you to it, James. You will, however, understand that I have warned you, and told you my opinion of this venture." James simply smirked, and walked down to the Great Hall, plan nearly formed.

All of the students had been called to the Hall, to make sure everybody was safe. James spotted Andron, and called to him.

"Hey, Schwarz!" he bellowed, making most of the people near him jump.

"Are we going somewhere?" Andron asked, looking peeved.

"Don't you know it," James said.

"Oh, fine," Andron said, nodding. Both of them walked towards the village.

They apparated to Knockturn Ally, and went into a seedy pub. They distorted their images ever so slightly, making it hard to tell their true identity. As they sat, they spoke in low tones.

"Dirty bastards," James said in a normal speaking volume. "Foul, loathsome, vile people. What do they think I am, a piece of meat?"

"Obviously a very nice piece of meat," Andron said. They both ordered a firewhiskey.

"They got rid of me!" James growled. "Now is not the time to come crawling back! Aye, I should cut them up and boil them, just to hear them scream." Andron nodded, sipping his firewhiskey out of a rather dirty glass. "Damn Potters!"

An hour later, James was having a conversation with a few known Death Eaters, convincing them that he hated the Potters, and would do anything to get back at them for ruining his life.

James and Andron stayed at the Leaky Cauldron that night, ready to meet their acquaintances the next morning.

"I don't feel so good about this, James," Andron said quietly. "What if we end up marked?"

"Then we get my brother, and remove the damn thing. I'd do the same thing for you, Andron," James said sincerely. Andron grinned.

The next morning, bright and early, they met in the same seedy pub, with the same men.

"Our Lord has agreed to meet with you. Are you agreeable?" the man who looked scarily like Theodore Nott, a Hogwarts Seventh year, said silkily.

"Aye," both James and Andron said.

They were lead to the most feared place in the world. Voldemort's throne room. James cleared his throat, and spoke first, pissing Voldemort off.

"I hear you have the Potter bitch," he said bluntly. "And I think it only fair that I get a shot at him, before you finish the little fuck face." Voldemort raised a non existent eyebrow, and rose from his place of glory.

"You presume to have the right to order me around?" Voldemort said coldly, circling him and Andron. James snorted.

"I have access to certain people that, let's say, have stabbed a thorn in your side from day one," James said casually. "Dumbledore, as a number one. Although, I do have a question."

"And what would that question be?" Voldemort asked mockingly.

"Why was Lucius Malfoy giving Dumbledore some, ah, interesting war details the other day? Was that some elaborate ruse? Because I've never even heard a whisper of Malfoy being a double double crossing crosser that double crossed you while crossing to Dumbledore by being a tri-crosser of the espionage sort," James simply said, speaking quickly. Voldemort looked enraged, his red eyes even glowed with power for a moment.

Then he got himself under control.

"Wormtail, get Lucius for me," Voldemort ordered calmly. The blond man casually walked in, but fell to the ground as soon as he entered the room fully. Voldemort held him under the Cruciatus Curse for four minutes, before leaving the man panting on the ground, and turning back to James and Andron. "Wormtail will take you to the Potter brat. Leave him alive."

"Good deal," Andron said coolly.

"I want Dumbledore." James nodded to Voldemort, before following Wormtail to the dungeon of the strange house they were in. James carefully placed a tracking device behind a portrait as they went. He did it so casually, Andron didn't even notice.

They got to Sirius' cell, and James actually had to work to keep from blanching at his brother's state. The boy sat up, and his eyes widened. James barely shook his head, and Sirius knew to play dumb. Just as Wormtail turned to leave, James cast a spell that forced him into his animagus form. He stunned the fleeing rat, and Andron put a charm on the wall.

They grabbed Sirius, and made a Portkey to the Entrance Hall. Right before they activated the Portkey, they heard Death Eaters entering the cell. Sirius, while injured, managed to laugh hysterically.

"What did you write on that wall?!?" he asked, holding onto James to remain standing.

"_You've been butt raped, have a nice day_," Andron said loudly. James took Wormtail out of his pocket. "It's the middle of the day, everyone must be in the Great Hall." He turned to see the Great Hall doors open, and a thousand people staring at them in shock. "Ah. . . My mother always said I should look both ways before I open my mouth."

"For good reason," James agreed. He smiled winningly at the Hall. The he smirked at the Headmaster. "Care to repeat your concerns, old man? I know how to talk my way in and out of most things. From traffic tickets, to getting Lucius Malfoy tortured _indefinitely_."

Oddly enough, Draco Malfoy didn't look very indignant about that little fact. He simply shrugged, and went back to his cabbage.

"Oh, and Dumbledore, I'm supposed to somehow deliver you to Voldemort. . . So don't be surprised if I kidnap you in your sleep," James said sarcastically, giving a look of 'Yeah-Like-That-Would-Ever-Happen'. "So don't piss me off, because Voldemort expects you." The threat was somewhat lessoned, however, by James grinning madly halfway through.

"Perhaps we should discuss this in my office?" Dumbledore asked. Everyone knew it wasn't a question.

"Meet you there, then." The three turned to walk out of the Entrance Hall, but fell on top of each other.

"Agh!" Sirius screamed.

"Ah, we've been ham stringed! How very strange," James said, intrigued. "Ha, I still have a leg to stand on!" Only his left leg was not working, but his right was perfectly fine. He checked Andron and Sirius. His best friend had two sliced legs, while only his brothers left was injured.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"Hamstringing- cutting the tendons in the back of the leg to hinder movement. Used to be used often on run away slaves as punishment for running away. It is also notably hard to repair tendons with magic. Come on, let's get D-ro up these stairs."

"D-ro?" Sirius questioned, as the two hauled Andron up, partly carrying him up the stairs.

"I have many names for him, actually." His phone started ringing.

"Son of a. . . Hello?" he asked, balancing Andron, a phone, and his lame leg, trying to get up stairs all at once.

"James!" Catherine's frantic voice nearly bellowed out of the phone. "Sara is missing!"

'_Why can't people simply stay where they are supposed to? Why do they all have to disappear all at the same time_?'

"When did this happen?" James asked.

"We found her car an hour ago, and then a miniature of the scene, James. The Miniature of Sara was still moving, she's still alive, under a car, we don't know where though. Can you get here?" Catherine asked.

"Ah, I've sustained a bit of an injury, I may be two or three hours. . ."

"You're injured?" Catherine asked. "How did that happened?"

"It's quite a long story, involving Dark Lords, idiot brothers, and a Hamstringing Hex. Agh, gotta go, see you as soon as I can bye," James said in a rush. He was starting to fall over, and had to regain his balance.

"Could you _not_ drop me?"

"Why don't we just levitate him, James?" Sirius questioned.

"Many reasons, none of which I am at liberty to explain. Until then, haul!" James ordered.

"I'm hurt too," Sirius whined, obviously oblivious to the danger he was putting himself in. James gave a vicious growl, noting that they were halfway up the stairs, and he hauled his brother over his shoulder, doing the same with Andron in one swift movement.

He continued up the stairs, hopping on one foot.

"Put me down!" Sirius complained.

"Dude, don't even try," Andron warned. "You whined about it, so James fixed it for you. You can't complain now," Andron said groggily.

"I'm not complaining! How the bloody _hell_ are we at the top of the stairs?" Sirius asked, banging his fist on James's back.

"I carried you," James deadpanned. "Now shut up, before I drop you back down the damn stairs."

"He'll do it, too," Andron added.

James dropped them off at the Hospital wing, and walked to the Headmaster's office. He gave a brief report, and told his grandfather he had somewhere he had to be. He was sitting across the desk from the other man, who looked concerned.

"How is your leg? Did Poppy heal it?" he asked, his eyes flashing with worry. James shook his head. Pettigrew sat in a cage with an Unbreakable Charm on it, forgotten.

"I don't have time, it will be fine. I have to go," James said, standing up, only getting halfway to the door before he was stopped. His grandfather grabbed his shoulders, making sure he wasn't going to go anywhere, before kneeling down next to his leg.

James felt Albus poke the gash with his wand.

"Fawkes!" Albus said. James felt the tears of the phoenix drip onto the gash, and he hissed as the tendon began healing. He grabbed his grandfathers shoulder, and squeezed it tightly. "There," the older man said, standing up, "now I won't have to worry about you not being able to walk." James stared at him.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. Albus looked at him for a few minutes, before dropping his gaze. James awkwardly pulled him into a hug.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said quietly.

"Yet I do so anyway," Albus replied.

As James drove towards the small circle of cars, he realized where he was. The desert, the same one he'd had a heart attack in. It was weird for him to think that that had been over a year before. So much had happened since then, it was strange.

"James!" he heard Catherine yell as he got closer. She looked a bit dishelved, and had dark smudges under her eyes. Grissom looked worse, by far.

For some time, James has suspected that there was more to the relationship between Grissom and Sara, but it wasn't his place to say anything. This only cemented his theories.

It seemed like every crime scene investigator from the Vegas area was there, not to mention the police, detectives, and reporters.

James parked his truck, and limped over to Catherine. She raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head.

"How are things going?" James asked. He looked around at the barely concealed panic, and again shook his head. "Not well, I see."

"Quite the observation," Grissom said. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Many."

They spent fifteen minutes explaining everything to James, who only nodded, staring at a nearby table, but not really seeing it. When they finished, he moved to the table without a word, clearing it of everything but the map that was in the middle.

He took a pen out of his pocket, and began marking the map in different areas.

"Did anyone else notice it's raining?" he called over the sound of the rain. "Did the miniature look wet?" he asked. He continued with the map after getting a negative response. "How far of a perimeter have you covered?"

"Ten miles," a deputy responded. Harry nodded, turning to Grissom.

"Sir, I need a tent," he said. Grissom looked a bit surprised, but ordered that a pop up tent be put in place. The only problem was that it didn't have walls. James stared a tit thoughtfully, before he went to his truck, and took two sealed packages from under the passengers seat, and some zip ties.

Each package contained two bed sheets, and he opened them. With the zip ties, the attached a sheet to each side of the top, and then fastened them together. Effectively making walls for the tent. He used a switchblade from his pocket to cut down the middle of one of the sheets to make a door.

When the tent was complete, he pulled Catherine and Grissom into the ten, and conjured a table. Catherine gasped, before remembering herself.

James began pulling objects out of pockets. Pockets that appeared out of nowhere. He took out a cauldron, and ingratiates for an all but illegal locator potion. It was considered a branch of Dark Arts, simply because people with darker tendencies used it to locate their victims.

Yet he didn't feel bad about using it, either. He was trying to find someone with the intention of good. Honestly, the silly labels had to go. He worked with his usual air of extreme efficiency.

It took him ten minutes to get to the final stage of the potion. James looked up at his colleagues.

"Do either of you have anything belonging to Sara?" he asked, his eyes resting on Grissom. He produced a hair tie, and James eyes lit up, after he saw a few strands of hair on it. "Perfect!" he put the tie in the potion. . .

And nothing happened.

"James, what went wrong?" Catherine asked. James looked up at her, confused.

"Nothing that I am aware of. The colour, consistency, and temperature is correct. I need a map of the surrounding area- no, no, don't concern yourself, I happen to have one," James said, taking a map out of his never ending pocket.

He spread it out on the table, using various objects to hold it in place so it wouldn't roll back up. He poured the potion on the map, and then cast a charm over the whole thing.

Various areas lit up, some faintly and some brightly. The brightest spot was twenty miles to the north.

"Ah, found her!" James said neutrally. "Twenty miles north."

"The cars won't start!" Nick's surprised voice called.

"I was afraid of that," James muttered. He covered his face with his hands, and sighed. He turned to the two other people before he continued. "I believe, well, I don't believe. I can feel evil tainting this place. Magic has been used here, hundreds killed, slaughtered, tortured. The ground is saturated in magic."

"What does that mean?" Grissom asked.

"Magic makes muggle things, like electricity, go haywire. When you turn the key in the ignition, the car momentarily runs on the battery, before the internal combustion motor starts up. The magic in this area won't allow the battery to start," James explained. "Over the last few years, more and more magic has found it's way into the ground of this desert. I can feel it, it's almost frightening. Now, how do we get twenty miles north, with no motor vehicle?"

"A helicopter?" Catherine suggested. Her face showed that she barely understood half of what James was talking about. James guessed it was the magic bit.

He tilted his head to the left, and nodded slowly.

"It could work," James said. "Or it could end in everyone in the helicopter victims of an explosion." Catherine stared at him.

"Thanks, James."

"I'm simply being realistic. There is something I could do, but I could only do it to one vehicle. And I need. . . Hello, Andron," James said, looking at his friend. Andron looked extremely happy, and James was almost afraid to ask why.

"That is one evil Nazi Woman," Andron pouted. "So, what's the problem? And why are we here? This place feels weird."

"The cars in the area won't start, and we need to be twenty miles that way," James pointed north, "as soon as magically possible." Andron nodded.

"Let me guess, magic has saturated the batteries? That's easy to fix, but we could only do one car," Andron said. They turned to Grissom. "Which car?" Andron asked.

"James'."

"Righty-o, then, James. Los gehts," Andron said, walking out of the tent. The other three followed him. James noticed that Grissom's eyes were growing more and more desperate with each passing moment.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, as Andron popped the hood of James' truck.

"Fixing a car," Andron replied. James laid down and pushed himself under the truck, staring up at the motor. "It might take a minute, there is no magical solution for the problem, you know."

"That's it!" James yelled, jumping up. He fell back down when his head collided with something hot and metal. "Ow."

"What's it?" Andron asked. "And hurry up, the rain is picking up!"

"Magical solution. . ."

Within ten minutes James and Andron had the car running. Grissom, James, Nick, Warrick and Greg rode in the bed of the truck, while Andron drove, and Catherine, Brass, and two paramedics rode inside.

"I can't see anything!" Andron called out the window. James rolled his eyes, and went to the toolbox by the window. He opened it, and rummaged around. Inside were rolls upon rolls of duct tape, a shotgun, a highly illegal automatic weapon, and his omnioculars.

He climbed on top of the cab of the truck, making Nick and Warrick stare at him like he was absolutely nutty.

"Keep going, coming up ten miles on the left," James said. The rain poured down, beating on the truck like thousands of small hammers. The dirt had turned to mud, making steering harder for Andron, and the road bumpy for the passengers. James was able to stay on the roof by sheer will, and magical power.

The truck came to a stop, also with help from magic, meters from an overturned red sports car. With an agility not stereotypical for his age, Grissom was out of the truck and sprinting toward the car in seconds. The rest of the cars occupants followed, slipping and sliding in the mud.

"Of all the times it rains in the bleeding desert, they pick today?" Andron asked, after falling on his face. James' work boots were caked in mud, and getting heavy.

Grissom was down on his knees, kneeling next to the car, trying to find a pulse on the visible wrist. Nick and Warrick were attempting to move the car. Andron and James walked over and picked it up, making it appear as though they did it with physical strength, instead of a Levitation Charm.

"Bomb!" Nick roared, indicating something under the car, right above where the half conscious Sara was laying. Nobody in the area was a part of the bomb squad, nor did they have the training or the authority to disarm a bomb. "Look at Sara's work vest. It's got a flashing light, just there."

James looked, and then looked over the car at Andron. The flashing light was part of a sort of motion sensor. Once the car was a certain distance from Sara, it would blow up.

"Andron, what distance are we looking at?" James called, over a clap of thunder. James took that thunder as a very bad omen, indeed.

"It would have to be close enough to injure Miss Sidle, and anybody rescuing her, Grissom being the most likely secondary target. But, maybe it's based on time. That makes more sense, you know. Just how far away could you get in, say, sixty seconds?" Andron posed the question just as more thunder drowned out the very thoughts being thought.

"If Sara is going one way, and the car the other, how far indeed? Two trains leave the same station going opposite directions." James raised his eyes towards the sky. "I say twelve thousand feet, just under a lap on a track. With C4 like that, it should be enough," James said.

The rest of the people were looking at them, all except Grissom.

"Let me get this straight," Catherine said in her maternal tone, "you plan on carrying the car in one direction, while we move to safety in the other?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and looking between the two young men.

"Of course. Don't worry," Andron assured, "we do this all the time. Now, I'll make an educated guess. As soon as you remove that sensor from her vest, the car will blow anyway. Simply removing the vest may work, but that could be a decoy, meant to lull us into a false sense of security. Yes, I think we've come up with the only safe plan."

"Do we have a back board? Yes, ah, good. Get Sara on that. Tightly, man. If you can get her on the truck, and out of here, that'll get her even further in the allotted time. Dron and I will take care of the car," James said. The others reluctantly agreed.

Catherine's thoughts were going ten paces at once. In the mere seconds of stress following the start of the race of time, she found herself thinking of a startling array of random thoughts. From how far gone Sara looked, to what she was going to eat when she got home.

Her thoughts then strayed to her daughter, Lindsey, who was preparing to go on a trip to New York with her class over winter break. She was probably safely in bed and asleep at that moment.

She was in the bed of the truck, helping hold the back board in place, as the bumps, caused by the mud, jarred the board terribly. Exactly one minute after the chaos started, there was a horrible explosion behind them. It lit up the dark sky a glowing, taunting orange.

Barely turning her head, Catherine could see the explosion out of the corner of her eye. What she saw made her blood run cold. Two distinct black shapes were being thrown away from the blast. One was moving in the same direction as the truck, moving faster than the truck dared.

As if in slow motion, she watched the body fly overhead, landing twenty feet in front of the moving truck. Warrick, who was driving, didn't have enough time to stop, or swerve.

The tires hitting the body made Catherine nearly shriek. Her nerves were severely on edge, and that had not helped at all. Her phone started ringing, and she pulled it out. Just as she was about to answer it, the phone let out a horrible high pitched noise, and then went dead.

Nick was staring at her by this point.

"Cath, are you alright?" Nick asked softly.

"Nicky, I think this is what most people call a 'nervous breakdown'," Catherine said, her tone strangely detached. He nodded, looking down at Sara.

They arrived at the hospital less than a half an hour later. There was frenzy as Sara was brought in. All of the CSI tem close to Sara stayed at the hospital in the waiting room.

Gil Grissom sat in a chair, staring off into space. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and his arms were rested on the chair. Catherine thought he looked more lost than anything else.

Nick Stokes stood, leaning against a wall, absently flipping through a pamphlet on menopause. His eyes weren't moving, and he was flipping the pages too fast to actually be reading.

Always the odd one, Greg Sanders was talking to a hospital lab worker, about something Catherine was too stressed to understand. She could see in his eyes, though, not his usual playful humour, but a quiet kind of reserved fear.

Even more out of character, Warrick Brown was quietly sitting of to the side, his shoulders drooped and hunched over, he was staring at his hands.

Jim Brass was talking to a doctor and looking part frantic, part professionally calm. In any other situation, Catherine would have found it funny, but now it was a bit annoying.

Catherine Willows herself was pacing the waiting room like a speed walker training for some event. Her strides were long, and her long wet hair hit her face and neck with each step.

Missing from the scene were two boys, whose whereabouts and conditions were unknown. No one knew which one had been hit by the truck. Nor did they know the fate of the other.

There was an uproar by the front door.

"Burn victims!" one doctor called to a resident. "One run over by a car!"

The Crime Scene Investigators jumped up, and most of them rushed forward.

Grissom was the only one with the sense to stop a doctor, and demand details. He used his badge to get the real details.

"About two seconds ago, a boy of about seventeen walked in, carrying another boy. The boy who was conscious has severe burns, on his arms, face, chest, legs, over eighty percent of his body. He has a few broken bones, and an array of other things. The unconscious boy has a broken spine, severe burns, also an array of other things," the doctor explained. Grissom nodded.

"And the boys, can you describe them?" Catherine asked. "Skin color, maybe?"

"The conscious boy was…"

**TBC**

* * *

Yes, my worst cliffhanger ever!

Ah, I can see your faces now. Haha, you're not scaring me. Okay, yes, well, a little. And Lauren, put down that eyebrow. And the torches.

I'll update soon!

ChipmonkOnSpeed


	11. When the Road Darkens

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Carlton, my muse.

I would like to make clear now that it is going to take a long time for James II to be able to talk to Lily and/or James I. (It may or may not involve beerpong, LoverOfPiper- Haven't decided.)

* * *

"_The conscious boy was…" _

After hearing what the doctor had to say, Warrick Brown sat in a chair and simply stared at his hands. He could not believe it. He should have stopped, promise be damned. Warrick let out a frustrated sigh. Had the boy known what was going to happen? Could that be why the young man had made him promise?

Thinking back on it, it made sense. The boy knew how much explosives the car held, he could have easily figured it out. It wasn't you could say, rocket science. A simple mathematical formula.

Warrick looked around. Half of his colleagues were staring at him. The other half, they avoided looking at him.

"Why didn't you stop?" Nick whispered. Warrick was glad that his friend didn't sound accusatory, only curious.

"He made me promise not to," he answered, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Who?" Catherine asked, sounding a bit confused.

"James' friend. He made me promise to not stop for any reason, he told me that Sara was first priority. There was no time to avoid him!" Warrick said, his voice thick. "All of the sudden he was just there! And the mud!"

"It's alright, Rick, we understand," Brass said, quietly. "The doctors say he should make it. No charges will be pressed, unless, well, unless he doesn't make it." The older man grimaced. "I didn't mean it like that."

"How is James doing?" Catherine quietly inquired. Grissom cleared his throat, suddenly all business.

"Well, he's unconscious now. But before he passed out, he was able to get out that after the explosion, the car landed on top of him. He managed to get out, grab his friend, and walk out of the desert. After that, he doesn't remember anything," Grissom said, before turning to look out the nearest window.

"So Andron is run over by a truck, James has a car fall on him from a hundred feet in the air. Were these two born unlucky, or is it just the way they are?" Catherine asked. "How is Sara?"

"She's battling. They think she'll make it," Greg said. "She will. Make it, that is."

The pain that raced up his back woke him up and nearly made him scream. James was sure he'd had better days. He was also positive he was in a hospital. He could smell it. He'd spent most of his early childhood in the hospital.

He attempted to sense anything that was in the room, but found that he couldn't. James' only explanation for that was his magic was working overtime on healing him. Blinking open his eyes, he saw someone standing over him.

"Jamie!" an all too familiar voice said cheerily. James blinked. Then he grinned.

"Pig Head!" As his eyes better focused, he saw all of the person standing above him. "Pig Head in a white coat! Certified and official, when did this happen?"

"I just finished my residency six months ago, Jamie," he said.

"Hmm," James said.

Mark Realtor had gone to college with James; they'd even joined the same fraternity. Mark had even used James to practice splinting broken bones. Like both James and Andron, Mark had gone too college way earlier that most people. He was six years older than James, but had started college two years early. He had gone to Harvard Medical, on top of a whole host of other colleges.

"Yeah, 'hmm'," Mark said, looking over a clipboard. "Let's see. You fractured half your bones, broke the other half, received horrid burns pierced a rib, and broke your cell phone," Mark listed easily. "How do you feel?"

"Like I should go to my apartment, crawl into bed, and never come out," James said. As Mark continued going about checking on James, there was a loud beeping in the hospital. "What brings you to Vegas, Doogie?"

"Good money, good gambling, and my girlfriend," Mark replied, rolling his eyes at the nickname. "Feeling any pain in your abdomen?"

"The only thing that doesn't hurt is my hair," James replied. "How's And?"

"He, oddly enough, woke up three hours before you yourself. He's doing very well. And the lady, Miss Sidle, we believe she has a great chance of walking out here by the end of the week. On to other things, Andron's mother should be busting down our door soon. She wants her son brought back to Berkeley. On another note, we have to rebrake your ankle if you ever want to walk normally again," Mark said, turning to look at James.

"Do you practice your terrible bedside manner? Go ahead," James said, holding up his foot, "brake it."

"You know you should be under for that," Mark said. James grabbed his own ankle and twisted it until it snapped. Mark grimaced. "And you know I hate when you do stuff like that."

Gil Grissom was sitting by Sara's bed, talking quietly with her. A young doctor walked in, and he recognized the young man as her doctor.

"So, you both know the young man who goes by James?" the doctor asked. "He is straight up crazy. I would kick him out of my hospital, if he didn't get me through med school. Are you feeling alright, Miss Sidle?" As she nodded, he turned to Gil. "And you, Mr. Grissom? You look tired. Have you been eating and sleeping properly?"

"Quite well, thank you. Is Sara alright?" Gil asked. The young doctor looked at his clipboard once again.

"Ina few days, she will be fine. Until then, I will say she is recovering. Quite nicely, I might add. A nurse should be by soon to get you your medicine, Miss Sidle," the doctor said kindly. Gil stood up as he turned to leave.

"Can I see James?" he asked. The doctor turned and nodded.

"Of course, sir. I'll take you to his room," the younger man said. Gil followed him out of the room, and down the busy hospital hall. "We just rebroke his ankle. By 'we', I mean he snapped it himself."

"When did he wake up?" Gil asked,

"Two hours ago. I was ready to slap him awake, honestly. Lazy bastard, sleeping for a week. Silly really. It's not like he doesn't get enough sleep on his own time," the doctor said sarcastically.

"So you know him?" Gil asked quietly, peering in all the rooms as he passed by.

"Since we went to high school together, sort of. We were both on advanced tracks in school. We started as freshmen together, and from then on, he would be ahead of me, then I would pull ahead of him. His silly advantage got him out of school before me. Bastard. . . and here's our bastard now. Hi, Jimmy," the young brown haired man said.

"When can I go?" James asked instantly.

"Not for at least a week, and I've bolted the window, and I _**will**_ have security cuff you to that bed if I have to. Have a nice day," Mark said airily. As the doctor turned, he just barely missed the small plastic container of Jello that had been launched at his head.

"Having a bad day, James?" Gil asked, sitting down next to the bed. "I hate hospitals. They do seem to like me, though," James said, collapsing back against the pillow.

"Just how many times have you attempted to climb out the hospital window?" Gil asked, sitting next to the bed, purposefully cutting off James' view of the window.

"Not many. Less than five times. How's Sara?" James asked.

"The car was placed on her arm; it got a pretty bad brake when she tried to get out. The water from the rain got trapped under the car, so her lungs were partially filled with water. They said she should be able to leave in about a week. How are you?" asked Gil, glancing at the cast on James' ankle.

"Grand, and ready to go," he said, grinning.

"Hmm. As your supervisor, I am going to ask that you never do what you did, ever again. As the boyfriend of the woman you helped save, I want to give you my sincerest gratitude. What you did means a lot to me. Thank you."

James did not seem to know how to respond to this, he looked uncomfortable. Gil could understand that. He, himself, could only really share his feelings with one other person in the world; Sara. James had always had Andron, but Gil guessed that that was more of a deep friendship. It was apparent that the deepest conversation the two boys had ever had was who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth. Gil searched for a change of topic.

"So, in four months, are you going to be coming back to the lab?" Gil asked.

"That was my plan, if I can. I hope to have this little problem in England done by then, and I'm sure I can work out a schedule after that," James said. Gil nodded, raising an eyebrow.

"About that. I received an interesting phone call from a man by the name of Charlie Epps, a consultant for the FBI. He said that you are one of the most brilliant people he has ever seen. He asked for your background; said the FBI was thinking of hiring you as an agent. Care to explain?"

"I have been helping the FBI. I had extra time, and needed something to do. I put my math skills to work, and got a job with the FBI," James said confidently.

"How will you work with the FBI, if you are working with the Crime Lab?" Gil asked, curious.

"It's like night and day," James said easily. Gil rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"You are odd."

"Perhaps."

James limped out of his hospital room, down the hall, and into the room containing Andron. Mark had gone home, but was on call, so James was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. Apparently, the nurses had been told to alert Mark if James got out of bed.

Andron was reading a magazine when James limped in. He looked bored out of his mind, not even the math magazine was holding his attention. His face brightened when he saw James.

"Hey, buddy!" Andron said. "You're alive!"

"D-Ro!" James said, happily. "What have you been up to?" James pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat down with his chin resting on the back of the chair. The metal was cold, making him realize how cold he was. He was only wearing pyjama bottoms, and he was suddenly very fond of flannel

"I've spent the last week asking to be let out. How about you? Have you talked to Dumbledore?" Andron asked. James' eyes widened, and he let out quite a few odd sounds.

"Ah, bugger," James said quietly. "I told him I'd be back within the day. That was a week ago."

"Well, you were mostly unconscious," Andron said, comfortingly. "He can't blame you, really."

They talked until a nice nurse came in a told James to get back to his bed. James was happy she didn't call Mark, because the older doctor would have stormed down in his boxers and tied James to the bed.

James and Andron were released two days later, the fourth of October. Andron had to go home and visit his family, on his mother's orders, leaving James to face his grandfather alone. He decided to use the Floo Network. Las Vegas had one of the largest Public Floo Centers in the country.

He tumbled out of the fireplace with a loud curse and a thump from his head hitting the ground. James had loudly announced his arrival into the office of Albus Dumbledore.

The occupant of the office jumped up, training his wand on the unknown person. When he saw who it was, he was both relieved and angry.

"Where have you been?" Albus demanded in a worried tone. He pulled his grandson off the floor, and hugged him. "I was so worried about you! Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I need my ribs, sir. Ow, bruised," James said. When Albus pulled away, James followed him, not letting go. Albus smiled, and hugged his grandson once more, though more gently.

"What happened?" Albus asked. James sighed. They walked into Albus' private chambers, and sat on the couch in front of the fire.

James took his time explaining the entire story, making Albus pull him closer in a protective one armed embrace.

". . . And it completely mutilated my favourite tattoo, to," James said. Albus laughed, and kissed the top of James' head. They sat there for a moment, not saying anything.

"Why have you accepted me, and not your parents?" Albus asked. James sighed and laid his head against Albus, suddenly very tired.

"I've told you this," James said. "You wanted me, they didn't. I trust you. In time, I may grow to trust them, but I don't know. Do you have a problem with me accepting you?"

"Ah, no, not at all, my son, not at all. I just wish none of this had happened," Albus said quietly.

"Mmm," James said.

"You should have been raised with a caring family."

"Mmm."

"No one should have abandoned you."

There was no reply from James, and Albus looked down to notice that the younger man was asleep. He smiled at the younger man.

It was nearly surreal to have his grandson next to him. Only a year ago, he'd had no idea where to find the boy. Now the boy was sitting right next to him, snoring softly. His smiled widened, before he fell into the best night sleep he'd had in a week.

James was startled awake by the sound of his cell phone ringing, quite loudly. He jumped at least a foot off of the couch, and let out a few well chosen German phrases. He hit all of his pockets a few times with the palms of his hands, looking for the pocket that held the evil phone from- "_Hell-lo_!" James said, not knowing who it was, not having bothered to look at the caller ID. He recognized the voice instantly, though.

"Hey, James, it's Charlie. I heard what happened, and I wanted to make sure you were okay, and alive. How are you?" Charlie asked, all in one breath. James gave a short laugh, looking around the room. He must have fallen asleep on the couch, as that's where he had woken up, and his back was killing him. He shifted a little in his position of still laying on the old dark red couch. Something was next to him.

It was his grandfather. The much older man was sleeping between him and the back of the couch. James raised an eyebrow. The couch didn't seem to be any bigger than last night, but it was fitting two broad shouldered people quite comfortably.

"I'm fine, Charlie. I was just about to come over there. I have something to discuss with you, do you have a moment?" James asked, not actually wanting to stand up.

"Of course, if you want to help me with my Friendship Dynamics," Charlie said. James laughed, wondering how that would sound to anyone who didn't understand what he meant.

"Lose the hair, you'll have more friends," James said, his tone laced with humor. He checked his watch, with glow in the dark hands. It was half past one in the morning. He checked the watch on his other wrist, to check the time on the west coast of the United States. It was half past five at night. "I'm kidding. I'll be there in a bit."

"See you then, James," Charlie said, laughing. James hung up his cell phone with a well-practiced flick of the wrist. He let out a semi-growl, before he yawned.

"Are you leaving?" a tired voice asked. For the second time in five minutes, James jumped up. However, this time he screamed and fell off the couch. He heard laughter from above him as he peeled himself off the stone floor. "Sorry, m'boy, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me, old man. You _startled _the hell out of me," James said. He sat on the couch next to his grandfather, who had sat up. He tried to rub his elbow, which was aching, before he remembered there was a cast on it. It went halfway up his upper arm, and halfway down his forearm, on his right arm. He also had a cast on his left ankle and a brace on his right knee.

He had checked out of the hospital AMA, and in quite a hurry.

"I have to go. FBI stuff," James said. He stood up, but he fell back when Dumbledore grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled him back. "Oomph."

"Promise me you're not going to disappear for a week and then return in six pieces?" his grandfather demanded, in what James imagined to be the most intimidating tone the gentle man ever used. He had a tight hold on James' collar.

"I would never do any such thing!" James said with mock horror. He turned slightly and peeled the hand off his shirt. "Honestly, old man, you don't have to worry. If I were going to die before old aged kicked in, it would have been way before now. I can take care of myself better than most Aurors. In fact, I'm _over_qualified when it comes to being an Auror. They laughed when I applied. Said they would have to pay me too much. Just trust me, okay?" James said, looking the other man in the eyes. He seemed unsure, but eventually nodded.

"But if you get hurt, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so'," he said, eventually. James rolled his eyes.

"I am totally immune to that, now. That's exactly what Andron said before I tried a superman for the first time," James muttered, standing up and stretching.

"Oh? And what happened?"

"I flat lined, and Andron got to say it."

James knocked on the door of Charlie's office, and waited. He could hear some one call for him to come in. He opened the door, and walked in, only limping slightly. Charlie was standing by his blackboard, his hands covered in chalk, with a white chalk mustache. His girlfriend, Amita, was sitting at the desk, working on a laptop.

Charlie was wearing faded blue jeans and a light blue dress shirt. His curly brown hair seemed just a bit curlier than normal, and his shoulders were tense.

Amita was dressed casually, and her long brown hair was nearly perfect. James decided that either she was less stressed than Charlie, or women just handled stress better. When she looked up, her eyes widened.

"Are you okay, there? Here, sit down," she asked, standing and ushering him to a chair by the blackboard. Charlie turned and blinked.

"I didn't know you were that beat up," he said. "You supervisor from Vegas must have downplayed the injuries, I suppose."

"No, I downplayed them to him. I hid the casts. So, what's up?" James asked, taking a seat and looking around the office. There were a few bookshelves, a desk, some chairs, a computer, and two blackboards. The large windows gave it a light, airy feel, unlike some offices James had been in, all of which felt crowded and cluttered and dark.

"Well, if you're sure your all right, I'm going to go, and leave you two to talk," Amita said, smiling at them and walking out of the door. Charlie cleared his throat and sat down.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Charlie asked, stretching his back. James smiled, thinking of how kind Charlie was.

They talked for three hours, about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Almost. James asked about how to relate to people, without constantly sounding like a nutter. James trusted Charlie, more so than he trusted most people. He was he happy he had found somebody he could talk to without worrying about making sure he used small words and simple concepts. Charlie understood the inability to connect to other people, due to the intellectual gap.

Since James met his grandfather, he was more inclined to try to open up to more people. It was hard, after years of only having two people to talk to, ever. Speaking of him, James would have to visit his old mentor, Drake, sometime.

Charlie invited him to dinner, but James politely declined. "I would seriously love to, but I have a few people I need to reassure of my continued existence, before I go and crash. See you day after tomorrow, right?"

With a sigh, James made it to Drake's newest domicile. He kicked the door three times, before ringing the doorbell incessantly.

"I get it, James!" he heard the unmistakable voice of Drake Herr. It was deep and scratchy, but it reminded James of some of the happiness times of his life. The door opened, revealing a tall, thin man, who was quite old. He had grey eyes, alive with power and a deep sense of life. His hair was white, and short. James could tell he hand't shaved in a while, because he had some stubble. He wore, like always, blue jeans and a blue cotton shirt. "Hey, kid."

"How do you always know it's me?" James asked, walking into the house.

"I keep repairing doors because of the damage you do kicking them. Please, come in," Drake sarcastically muttered. Harry made himself comfortable, sitting on the counter.

The famed wizard bustled about the kitchen, fixing coffee and donuts. "Dunkin'?" James asked with a smirk.

"Fresh, this morning," replied Drake. "Coffee and donuts. Your in law enforcement, this is your bread and butter." James rolled his eyes. "I saw that."

"No you didn't. You just know me too well. I think we spend too much time togeh. . ." James trailed off, reading a paper that was on the desk. "Theory of Magical Power?" he read, suddenly becoming very interested. Drake looked up, though James didn't really notice. "This is-"

"Complete bull, I know. It was late. And Leno failed me, because my TV is in the fritz. Come on, I was going to shred it," Drake said, putting two cups of black coffee on the table. James shook his head absently.

"No, no. this is good. I think you've been holding out on me, Drakie," James said. "Mind if I steal this?" Drake shook his head.

"I don't see why you want it. Anyway, your coffee is getting cold. What brings you to my humble abode?" Drake asked, sipping the coffee out of a left handed coffee mug. James looked at his own; it was a New York police mug.

"Humble? You're in Harlem." James deadpanned.

"You grew up in Los Angeles, Oakland, Berkeley, and San Francisco. I think you'll survive a few hours in Harlem. That's beside the point, James."

"I need help with the werewolf thing," James sighed. He hated asking for help. Drake knew this, which is why he smiled into his mug. "All this time, everyone has been trying to cure the problem with magic. But what is the first rule of a cure? There is no magical answer! Perhaps the key to solving the problem lies within muggle science? When a man is bitten, it alters his DNA. If I can isolate the Lycanthropy chromosome, I can come up with something that will block it. It may not completely take the virus out, but it could stop the transformations. After that, a vaccine is a distinct possibility. I need to speak to a wizard who is also a geneticist," James decisively announced. Drake looked at him, before raising his hand and summoning something. When he was holding it, he turned it to face James. It was a mirror, James was staring at himself.

"I found you the one and only," he said, like a game show announcer. James growled.

"You're right, what do I do?" Without a word, Drake stood up. He walked to the fireplace, threw powder in the flames, and he was gone. James finished his coffee, and put on another pot. The older man came back holding something. He had been gone a good half an hour, but the smile on is face made James believe he had gotten what he wanted. He was holding something that made James grin.

A badge. Not really a badge, more like identification. The seal on it showed it was from the 'United States Special Operations'. 'Special' meant 'Magical'. It was legal identification an Auror could wear in the Muggle world. His picture was on it, with his name, age, gender, Security Clearance, and occupation(_s_). At the top, there was a metal clip to put it wherever it could be visible. He already had three, and he used them in rotation. For whatever job he was working, it went on his shirt pocket. When he wasn't working but needed them on hand, they went on the waistband of his pants. Now he had a fourth.

"You know what this is. You have Clearance Three, meaning you can tell anybody anything. Muggle, Squib, your cat, I don't care. It was damn hard getting this for you; almost as hard as it was to get the Time Turner when you were eight.

James stuck out his tongue, and began sipping the coffee right from the pot. He continued looking at the papers that were in his left hand, as Drake did some more bustling.

"Keep this up, Drake, and I may mistake you for an old woman," James muttered. He ducked the orange that the other man chucked at him.

"So, how is your grandfather?" the curiosity in Drake's voice was unmistakable.

"He's quite eccentric. He doesn't seem to care what people think of him. It's nice to know that he never gave up on me. A few days ago, in his office, I was investigating. I found a bunch of old papers and such in a drawer, all attempts he made to find me." Drake smiled.

"I'm happy for you, kid. I hear he is a great man. So long as you're happy. But this may make Thanksgiving a bit awkward. . ." The sentence was left open. "So, you seem to be a bit more open. What happened?"

"Sometime last year, a colleague of mine asked me to tutor her daughter, in Biology. I did. The daughter, Lindsey, kind of forced me to open up. She showed me that I need more than myself. I don't know whether learning that has been a blessing or a curse. She and Andron have been seeing each other off and on."

"My, my. Normally, I would ask a boy your age would be jealous, but I fear I'm wasting breath on that with you. You don't strike me as the dating type," Drake said. James was surprised, because Drake sounded almost sad.

"Not until I've got my career and life under control," James said, for the hundredth time. Drake nodded, before shoving the box of donuts at him.

James walked into the quiet castle, noticing his footsteps echoing in the empty Entrance Hall. It was eerie, but not entirely unwelcome. The silence was welcoming, but it made him feel a bit lonely. Six months ago, he wouldn't have noticed. But now, now for some reason, he didn't like being alone.

Andron was undoubtedly on a date, and it was getting late. He walked into the quarters he shared with Andron, and crashed on the couch, Magical Theory papers firmly in his hand.

* * *

Feel free to leave a review. Or go read another story. Or sign the invisible petition to make _Iheartpiper_ update.

PM me if you have any questions about my rather disjointed explanation of the DNA thing. It makes sense to me... But so does my theory that the universe is god's refridgerator.

ChipmonkOnSpeed


	12. Longest Filler Chapter Ever

Bleh. Okay, Elfwyn is my new best friend. They figured out what I couldn't. "Hey, why did he go from Vegas to Seattle for medical treatment?" Well, Because I am an idiot, and thus, instead of thinkingtoo hard, I just made it so. When I repost the story after it's done, I think I'll make more sense of that one.

And Harry took the name James because he didn't like the name Harry, and needed to change his name, so he just used his middle name. (My Excuse is that when he did it, he didn't actually know his father's name was James. Shhhh)

* * *

He walked into the Great hall in the middle of breakfast. Andron was sitting where he usually sat. The only seat left was in between Andron and Dumbledore, so James sat down

"How was your night, Andy?" James asked easily, pouring gravy on biscuits. He was just taking a bite when Andron answered.

"I'm joining the Air Force."

Before he could say anything, he noticed he was choking on his biscuits. He did the Heimlich on himself, and dislodged the evil breakfast food. He turned and stared at his long time confidant. Andron didn't look back, simply continued eating as if he hadn't just said anything absurd.

"They would make you cut you corn rows. You wanted to get dreads," James said. Andron's snapped his head in James' direction.

"They'd make me cut the corn rows? My corn rows? Oh, hell nah. I've had cornrows since I was four years old," Andron said.

"Yeah, I can't see you with a high and tight," James said. "What made you come up with this?"

"Remember when we were ten and built that. . . whatever it was?" Andron asked. James nodded, thinking back. "And the FBI took it, for national safety, or something? For the three hours we were able to fly it, it was amazing. You know you like being in the air more than on the ground."

"Very true. What did we name it? The Vulcan. It was a mix of Star Wars, Star Trek, MiB, and the F/A-18 Hornet. Damn that thing was amazing," James said. "But I'd rather not go to war."

"I don't want to lose my dream dreads."

"You like flying?" James heard the question, but he wasn't sure he wanted to answer the man who asked it. His father was sitting on the other side of his grandfather, and had obviously been listening to the conversation.

"Very much so."

"What kind of broom do you have? We just got Siri the newest Firebolt. It'll go two hundred, you know," James said. "Fastest travel anywhere, 'sides Apparation, and stuff."

"Shows what you know, you dumb motherlover-" James interrupted Andron before things got heated.

"Muggles can build aircrafts that go over a thousand miles an hour. When we were ten, we built a racer that could go twelve hundred miles an hour. You damn purist wizards are just stuck in the damn Stone Age," James said loudly. "I mean, you still use trains to get across the country." Andron started laughing. Many of the students who were in the hall looked rather upset.

"It is a well preserved tradition," Albus said. James stood up.

"Conservatives," he growled. "I'm surrounded by conservatives." He walked around the table, and started out of the hall, towards the dungeon. "Y'all are still using candles and torches. I feel like I've walked into a bleeding silent film."

Andron was following him, laughing. "You want a light switch, don't you?"

"Yes! It's depressing to walk into a room and turn to turn the light on, and there's no light switch! These people are so dependant on magic, it disgusts me!"

"You would make a great Electronic Rights Activist," Andron deadpanned.

"I would not be where I am today if I did not learn how to use a computer when I was three and a half years old. This is the information age! The twenty first century! It's infuriating," James said. He walked into the dungeons, thus causing another rant on dungeon usage.

"So what is this big brake through?" Andron asked, hopping up on a counter after pushing some jars out of the way.

"Deoxyribonucleic Acid," James proudly announced.

"Hawt Dawg, you gone 'n done it agin. All them big werds yer usin', I cannit unnerstan' a dern thing yer sayin'." James smirked at Andron's really bad redneck impression. "Seriously, DNA was a brake though, but it wasn't yours."

"I'm going to need a sample Lupin's blood, and that of a wolf. On top of that, I may need the blood of a transformed werewolf," James muttered. He conjured a chalkboard, and began writing out the relevant part of Drake's Magical Power Theory.

"Next full moon is on the twenty sixth. Last one was a week and a half ago. The hospital wing may have some of Lupin's blood. It is not likely, though, if the medi-witch wants to avoid a level four biohazard. I hear he still uses that psycho willow tree tunnel during the full moon. Werewolves tear themselves up all the time. This Stone Age school may not think to clean that," Andron reasonably deduced. James paused, before running out of the room, and up the stairs.

He sprinted down the sloping lawns of the castle, sliding in the mud from the night's rain. He waved his hand and stopped the branches from hitting him. He dove into the tunnel, crashing into the ground. After a bit of a climb, James found himself in a run down shack, in what he assumed to be Hogsmeade.

Just as Andron had predicted, blood covered the walls of the shack, in long spatters that would leave even Catherine stumped. He found a dry blood stain on the floor by the bed, and scraped it up, and put it into a small yellowish envelope. He could only hope it was enough for what he needed. When he exited the tunnel, he noticed it had begun to rain while he was inside.

It rained just enough make the grass even more slippery. Before he began to walk up to the castle, he briefly turned to the forest. A good five steps into his trek, he stopped and completely turned to the forest. And he continued walking.

Due to increase in the size of the Order of the Phoenix, the meetings were being held in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The members gathered at one long table that was set up, and talked quietly while they waited.

As Albus stood up, the Great Hall doors swung open slowly. Walking in looking like an angry rabbit, Andron looked around the room.

"Have any of you seen that bastard I call a colleague? I haven't been able to find him for. . ." Andron checked his watch, "nearly thirteen hours."

"He's been missing half a day and you don't think to inform anyone?" Lily Potter asked. Andron raised and eyebrow at her.

"Usually I wouldn't bother if James had been missing for weeks, but the asshole left me in suspense when he sprinted out of the castle towards the Whomping Willow. He said something about needing blood from a transformed and not transformed werewolf, and that of a regular wolf."

"And I got it," James said, walking into the Great Hall. He had a giant wolf over one shoulder. The great animal was lying rather prone, but it had no outward signs of injury. "Actually, I got an entire test subject. Imagine that."

"That's a living animal, not a test subject!" Nymphadora Tonks muttered moodily. James smirked at her, and turned so he was facing in her direction. The Order could clearly see the lifeless glassy eyes of the wolf.

They could also see a single bleeding gash across James' chest.

"Not quite so alive. Well, it was. . . then it ran into me. Want to help me dissect it, Andron?" James asked. Andron began walking with him toward the dungeon labs.

"What are we taking out of it?" he asked curiously, his impatience and anger forgotten.

"We need the heart, brain, and lungs without a doubt. Everything else is optional," James said. The Order stared at them, not realizing just how strange they actually were, until that very moment.

"Care to tell us what Tom has been up to, Severus?" Albus asked absently. The Potions Master nodded, clearing his throat.

"The Dark Lord has set his sights on Hogwarts. He wishes to take over the castle, as he wishes to kill its Headmaster. I was not privileged with hearing the whole conversation, but I know that the Dark Lord has quite a few plans underway at the moment. One solely involves Peter Pettigrew, something about him revealing a secret, if I remember. Lucius is considering attacking London next week," drawled Severus. Albus rubbed his temples, wondering just when life got better.

"Amelia, do you have anything to add?" Albus asked, rather tired.

"Fudge is rather upset that you've gone to foreign wizards to solve problems. He's going through their entire background, checking for anything and everything. Is there anything I should know, so I can cover it up?" the strict looking woman with a monocle asked.

"I don't know much about either of them. James runs a tab at the local hospital, and he's broken more bones than years I've been alive. He drinks way too much, and has a nasty habit of disregarding others feeling. No, disregard is a strong word. He simply doesn't have the capacity to see others feelings. He works for the muggle government in his country," Albus said, straining to think about it.

"And his friend?"

"He is a Professor at a muggle college. He teaches many forms of advanced Mathematics, and something else. Both of them are too smart for me to hold a conversation with them for more than ten minutes. I don't think Cornelius will find anything suspect about them," Albus commented. Amelia nodded, looking pleased.

Two hours into the Order meeting, James re-entered looking stranger than ever. He was wearing his surgery clothing, gloves, mask, bandana and all. He was dripping in blood. "Arterial spay should not be possible an hour after death," James simply stated. He glanced over the table, until he found Remus Lupin. "I'm going to have to borrow you."

"What for?" Lupin asked, obviously not looking forward to the coming meeting. James didn't blame him, he imagined that to the people standing before him, he looked like a crazed serial torturer.

"I need your cells." That led to a twenty minute lecture on what cells were, and what they did. "Don't worry, nothing should go wrong. And, if it does, I'll simply take samples from the autopsy." He left before anything was thrown at him. Without noticing it, he dragged his hand along the wall down the dungeon, until he got to the room he and Andron were in. the door opened right before he got to it, and Andron ran out, crashing into him. They fell to the ground in a bloody mess.

"I got something!" Andron excitedly said. He stood up and offered James a hand up. "I used one of the blood samples we've already taken from Lupin. I think I've come up with some -get in here- thing." he showed James to one of the many computers they had set up in their commandeered section of the dungeon labs. "The life of a werewolf is all about cycles. Man, transform, wolf, transform, man, transform, wolf, and so on. But I don't think that Lycanthrope actually has anything to do with the full moon. From this, I think that the DNA that a person gets from a wolf bite simply sits idle until it can become dominant, which happens-"

"Every twenty nine point five three one days?" James asked sceptically. Andron nodded.

"Yes! Strange, huh? See, I mixed the wolf blood with my blood, in a Petri dish. After five minutes, it roughly matched that of a werewolf, not exactly though, because Lupin and I have different DNA. The thing is, is the ratio of wolf to human five to one. Wolf blood was dominant!" James stared at him.

"So if we get Lupin's blood into our bloodstream, there's a good chance of us becoming werewolves?" Andron nodded.

"For a wolf to be able to turn a man into a wolf-man, it would have to have been in near constant presence of magic, for virtually all of its life. The wolves by this castle are a prime example. . ."

James was sure that Andron would have gone on for another year, but as he checked his watch, he realized he needed to go. Making his excuses, James left the castle. He made sure to tell Lupin to meet him the next day. The man had simply looked queasy and nodded.

Somehow he got from the FBI office in Los Angeles, to the Police Station in Santa Barbara, that night. He was hired as a 'Special Detective'. They already ad a consultant who was a 'psychic', a man who became intensely irritated, in a comical way, when James used the term 'seer'.

The sun rose slowly over the castle, casting a orange glow on the door just as James opened it. He ran a hand over his face tiredly as he walked into the Great Hall in time for the very beginning of breakfast. Only the earliest of risers were there eating. A few Ravenclaws, a small cluster of Hufflepuffs, and a handful of Gryffindors, including his brother and there friends. At the staff table, his relatives, Andron and Severus Snape sat eating. James simply walked passed them, toward the door to his quarters. Andron attempted to say something to him, but James simply raised a hand a gave a, "Hnnnn." Andron tried again. "Nnneeehh." And once more. "Geh."

James crashed on his bed, trying to figure out how long he had been awake. Constant apparation and time changes were messing up his internal clock. He had been awake for only twenty six hours. Just as his eyes closed, they snapped open and he was out the door before he could register why he was running. He heard a scream as he reached the door that would open to the Great Hall. He opened the door with a bust of magic and sped through. He leapt over Andron's chair and cleared the table, hitting the ground and continuing without pause. He opened the dungeon door from ten feet away and just barely avoided the hysterical first year Slytherin who was running in his direction.

When he got to the bottom of the staircase, he sprinted in the direction of the Slytherin common room, stopping when he reached the door to the lab. In the dim torchlight, he could make out blood splatters. Potentially infected blood splatters. He used his wand to clean every last spot of blood, making sure that none of it was left. The Crime Lab would find it hard to find the blood.

Once again, he dragged himself through the great Hall, but stopped when he reached the crying eleven year old, who was being comforted by Hermione Granger, Sirius' friend.

"Did you touch the blood?" James asked, calmly. The little girl turned to look at him, her eyes wide. "Did you touch the blood that was in that corridor?" She seemed to be thinking. She had calmed down, but still looked terrified. "The blood. On the walls. In the corridor. Did you touch it?"

"Yes, no, I don't know! It was everywhere!" She sobbed. Andron walked up, his eyes wide.

"I did the cleaning spell. I swear I did. When we walked in. I did the spell, I even used my wand. . ." he said, pulling it out. He gave it a wave, and it turned into a rubber chicken. The Gryffindors were laughing, but James was beyond angry. Occlumency didn't suppress his anger, something that rarely happened.

"What did you do?" he demanded. With a rugged breath, he realized how much his leg hurt. He looked down to realize that it was still in a cast. He probably re-broke it jumping over the table and running on it. His adrenaline was running out, making him aware of the pain. Over years, he had become so used to casts that he usually forgot they were on, often resulting in painful consequences.

"Sorry, mate, but we had to," Ron Weasley said, laughing. "You just left your wand in your back pocket. You were asking for it."

James started towards him, angrily limping; yet ready to rip the imbeciles head off. He pulled the red head out of his chair, and pushed him against the wall. The boy looked shocked, but it turned to anger and embarrassment within seconds.

"Was that little girl asking for it when she found herself surrounded by dried blood?" James asked, pulling Ron away from the wall but quickly slamming him into it again. "Do you know what that blood was? That blood had the power to turn men into werewolves!"

"She's just a Slytherin," Ron said, shrugging.

"Just a Slytherin?" James asked, fighting the urge to deck the immature boy. "You're at war, you pathetic excuse for a man! That is a little girl! How would you feel if it was your sister, your mother, your girlfriend? She's a person too, you ignorant maggot. Do you understand nothing of the human mind? Only when you dehumanize a group can you kill them without regret. She's just a Slytherin! They're just muggles! He's just a Jew, they're just fags, they're just barbarians, it's only an _entire village_ of pagans! _They're just heretics_!" James bellowed. "I want you to tell me what is wrong with Slytherins!"

By now, most of the Hall was full. Dumbledore looked like he didn't know whether or not to interfere. He had sent Hermione to take the little girl to the Hospital Wing, but after that, he was lost on what to do.

"They're evil! They kill people!" Ron said defiantly.

"Evil is human nature! Aside from that, what you just said is a simple minded stereotype. On top of that, many people you know, respect, and love have killed people. People who you call Dark are not all that different from you. They fight for their cause, they die for their cause, they believe in their cause. You just happen to have different causes. Imagine that," James said coldly.

"You don't understand, you yank! She's just a Slytherin! We hate them!" In a blur of movement, James had his gun out of the holster in his hand, and he brained the boy with it. James would swear he saw the brown eyes rolling around like a cartoon.

"And you're just an ignorant piece of filth. I hate them," James said. "Discriminating against a group of people who have only one thing in common, well, that's something Voldemort would do," James said, just loud enough for his voice to carry around the hall. He dropped Ron and walked away, holstering his gun. "Now I can't sleep," he said, redirecting his steps toward the castle door.

"James, you know your doctor said you're not allowed to drink," Andron said.

"No, Mark said I'm not allowed to do anything stupid. Thus far, I've gotten another job, wrestled a wolf, jumped over a table, and I've had sixteen cups of coffee in the last nine hours."

"You got another job? Please don't tell me it came with a new title," Andron said.

"Detective," James said, flashing him a grin.

"Damn you."

"You missed something," Sirius said, calmly. James stopped to turn to him. "You pissed off a Weasley."

"Tell him next time he does something like that, something like nearly turning an innocent little girl into a werewolf, I will personally inject wolf blood into his veins while he sleeps. We'll see how he likes being 'just a werewolf'," James said coldly.

"Come on _Detective_ Potter," Andron said.

"Right behind you, Professor Schwartz," James growled.

"Shut up," Andron snapped.

"Don't think I will," replied James. "I think I like torturing you a little too much."

They walked down the castle grounds and through the quiet streets of Hogsmeade to the Three Broomsticks. Sitting at the bar, James looked around, wondering if the owner knew that the building was not up to any sort of code. Shaking his head, James realized that the place was held up by magic.

"What can I get you gentlemen?" the barmaid asked.

"Have anything stronger than fire whiskey?" Andron asked calmly. She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner.

"Are you seventeen?" she asked quietly. James showed her one of the many forms of identification he carried. She nodded and walked away, disappearing behind a heavy oak door. She came back with a big bottle of deep amber liquid. "I just got this from Cuba," she said, as if whispering a secret. "My friend gave it to me, but by Ministry code, it's illegal for me to have in my pub. Take it off my hands for a Galleon, and I'll owe you a favour," she said calmly. Andron nodded, accepting the bottle.

James checked his watch. Drake had given it to him, years ago. To a Muggle, it would look like a normal divers watch. But the dial around the face wasn't a normal on. It was a time turned. Andron smirked when he noticed the motion.

It had only actually been fifteen minutes, but to James and Andron, it had been three days. They strolled through the Great Hall, where breakfast was still being served.

"That's why. . ." Andron sang loudly and drunkenly, "that's why the lady is a tramp!"

James had the bottle of whatever it was in his hand, trying to find out what it was actually called.

"Fuggit!" Andron exclaimed. "To Cuba!" he bellowed. James glanced at him.

"You may be the first to yell that while not declaring war," he said. Andron was preoccupied with trying to open the door. James waved his hand, and the door opened without problem.

"When did we put a mirror in this hallway?" Andron asked, slurring horrible. A more sober James replied.

"We didn't. You just saw yourself."

"Oh. Booger."

"Eloquent. That's a federal crime, you know," James said, trying to be helpful.

"Jump off a cliff." Andron took two steps into the passage way. "Hey, Me, stay away from Me, see We don't end up in Alcatraz!" James took a syringe out of his back pocket and stuck it into Andron's arm, injecting the baby blue potion into him. It was a sobriety potion, one James had taken after his second shot. "Whoa."

"My point exactly. Now move, before you seriously screw over the space time continuum."

Albus was seriously concerned over the current state of affairs. Minerva, his lovely wife, had all but stopped speaking to him. Lily, his bellowed daughter, hadn't looked at him in two days. Jamie, his son in law, was planning _something_. Sirius, his youngest grandson, was planning something _worse_. And James, his oldest grandson, was _completely_ out of his seventeen year old mind.

Finishing off his breakfast, Albus stood and began making his way to his office. Trying to keep up with young James simply gave him a headache. Some of the things James did simply seemed insane to normal people. Over working, not sleeping, and a host of other things.

Getting to his office, Albus went to stand in front of the window. Fawkes landed on his shoulder, and he stroked the magnificent bird's soft feathers. The Phoenix trilled gently.

"What am I to do, old boy?" Albus inquired. Watching Hagrid stride across the grounds, Albus realized something. James was a lot like he, himself, had been at that age; aloof, withdrawn, yet arrogant and self assured. Although he wanted to help Harry, to be a grandfather for him, but he knew that James would reject that.

He also needed James to help him with something, but he thought it would be irresponsible of him to add to James' workload. James had only been out of the hospital for half a day, and he'd already re-broken his ankle, yet the silly boy had just kept going. Albus didn't think that James had ever learned his limits, and therefore, believed he had none.

Not for the first time, he wondered exactly how James had grown up; how his life had been in the orphanage, how he had been treated. These were things he just didn't know. It hurt to wonder what it had been like.

He barely glimpsed James walking with his brother, Sirius, on the grounds. When he turned to get a good look, they were out of sight. Their reunion was going slower than James and Albus, but it made Albus smile knowing his grandsons could stand to talk to each other.

James walked across the grounds with his brother, smoking a cigarette far away from Andron's prying eyes. He had been told repeatedly to quit smoking, by doctors, co workers, and his friends; and, for the most part, he had. It was only when he was truly stressed, did he pull out his pack of coffin nails. To his credit, he'd had the same pack since his birthday.

"Do you know how bad those smell?" Sirius asked, looking out across the lake.

"Do you know how bad they taste?" James returned.

"How's your research coming along?"

"I'm so close; I can see the whites of the eyes of the werewolves that will be saved," James said with a touch of irritation. Sirius' eyes widened.

"Are you serious?"

"Like a heart attack," replied the somber James.

They spent the morning, between breakfast and lunch, talking about their lives.

"So, in the orphanage, you were given special treatment?" Sirius asked. They were sitting on the rocks by the lake, not looking at each other.

"Somewhat. I was trusted more than the other orphans. I was given more freedoms, such as leaving when ever I wanted, staying out until four in the morning, and I was rarely held accountable for my actions," James said calmly.

"Man, you suck. My _entire_ family works at my school, and all that gets me is a constant bruise on the back of my head," Sirius playfully whined. James smirked, seeing an owl flying towards the castle.

"Perhaps you should try being a better student," James teased.

"Maybe you could show me what the hell I'm doing wrong."

"Are you having problems with math or science? Politics, history? Philosophy, psychology?" James asked, throwing the cigarette filter into the lake.

"No, potions and transfiguration," Sirius replied. James nodded.

"I'm good with transfiguration, but for potions, you'll have to go to Andron," James said easily. Sirius turned to him in apparent shock.

"But I thought you were a genius," Sirius said, confused.

"Well, to an extent. As a child, my area of education was mostly in the vicinity of criminal justice. My mentor, Drake, is a retired detected for the N.Y.A.D., New York Auror Department. It's one of the most respected Auror departments in the United States. Anyway, when I was younger, I wanted to be a criminal psychologist. After that, I wanted to be a profiler. As I look back, I realize that there are a minimal number of jobs I can't get in the muggle world. The only subjects I went in depth with in the magic world were the ones most kids hate; Arithmancy, Runes, History, Politics. On a more basic level, I was taught Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms. I've never taken Herbology or Magical Creatures," James said.

"But, you can do wandless magic. What about Defence?" Sirius asked, looking as confused as a first grader in a Calculus class.

"Yes, wandless magic. Drake was one paranoid son of a. . ." he sent his brother a sideways glance, "muffin. He wanted me to be able to protect myself even without a wand. He even went so far as to figure out how to create a Patronus that remains with the castor," James said, chuckling. "Other than major curses, and such, most of the Defence I use is muggle, or instinct. If I'm in danger, and throw my hand out at an attacker, they will find themselves bound with rope, even though I never learned that Jinx. Does that make sense?"

"A Patronus that stays with the castor?" Sirius dubiously asked. James nodded.

"I used it on the train, when it was attacked by Dementors," explained James. After a moment without a response, he turned to see his brother staring at him in shock. "Yes?"

"We thought that was your Aura!" Sirius exclaimed in a rush. "It looked like one. I've seen Grandfather's before, when he was angry. His is light blue, almost like his eyes."

"Hmm. But when I cast a Patronus, the corporeal one attacks Dementors that are trying to attack victims, while my Aura-like one protects me from the ones that may sneak up on me while I'm busy concentrating on the intended victims," James said. Sirius nodded in understand.

"So you can practically cast two at once?" Sirius asked.

"In a sense. And, for further reference, the color of my Aura is blood red. I need to go; sleep is a godsend these days. Good day, Sirius," James said, taking the walk back up to the castle.

Sirius sat there for a minute more, before looking up at his Grandfather's office tower. Steeling his resolve, he stood and marched all the way up to the stone gargoyle without pause or second thoughts. He said the bypass password that only the Headmasters family had. He only started to have second thoughts when he knocked on the door.

Too late, though, he noted, when he heard his grandfather's deep, "Come in."

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked into the room. Before the older man could say anything, he started speaking rapidly. "Look, I know you like James more than you like me, and I understand that, I do. I also know that I'm not the Chosen One, he is. And I want to help him anyway I can so I have some things to tell you, because you would know how to handle the better." Looking up from the carpet, he was startled when he noticed that his grandfather was standing in front of him. The man had a sad look in his eyes.

"Have I really made you think that I like your brother more than you?" he asked. Sirius felt uncomfortable with the intensity of the guilt in the other man's voice.

"Well, you didn't talk to me or my parents for five years, but you were always looking for my brother. Grandma came over all the time, and always made excuses for you on my birthdays, and Christmas. Dad said you hated us," Sirius said, dropping his eyes to the floor. He was pulled into a hug before he had finished his sentence, though.

"No, Sirius, I never hated you, or your parents. I was upset, with them, not with you. You did nothing, ever, and never could do anything to make me hate you. You are my grandson, my daughter's son. I should have been around for you, Sirius. That was wrong of me." They stood in silence for a moment, until Sirius wrapped his arms around his Grandfather's neck.

"I don't blame you," Sirius said. "I would have done the same thing." The headmaster pulled away, trying to hide the fact that he was wiping his eyes.

"Now, my boy, what was it you wanted to tell me?"

The memory of the conversation between Sirius and his brother was put into pensieve. They watched it together, and when it was done, Sirius told the wise man his theories. Lunch was nearly over by the time they were done talking.

Armed with a little more information, Albus wondered when it would be a good time to corner Andron and force him to talk; using only the nicest means possible, of course. Smiling at his young grandson, and bidding him a good day, Albus looked over at the regal bird perched on the back of his chair.

"Okay, you win, old boy."


	13. Against Medical Advice

She found it! The Beta finally found it! I finally got to post! WHEEE!

Chapter 13: Against Medical Advice  
Disclaimer: Yeah, not even in my dreams.  
Warnings: Do not swallow opened sunflower seeds. Ow. Aside from that; Swearing, mild violence, and a rushed ending.

* * *

Waking up at a quarter passed seven, James walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. The strong smells of greasy and fatty dinner food assaulted him as he strolled in. He was just about to mosey over to his seat when his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, so he could answer accordingly.

"James Potter," he said, passing the table and going toward the dungeons.

"Mr. Potter, you have an appointment today with your doctor," a calm voice said without pause. "I've been asked to tell you that he will 'hurt you' if you do not show up."

Turning back to Andron after he had hung up, James caught his attention.

"Hey, Deedee," he said loudly. "I have to go see Alex."

"Are you going to tell him that your ankle was rebroken?" Andron asked, eating eggs.

"No, because then I would have to bring a _vest_, and that would be all bad," James said. "No, I'll simply tell him that I have been in bed for the last week, doing absolutely nothing strenuous."

"So you are going to tell the exact _opposite_ of the truth?"

"_That_'s the general plan," James said simply.

At the hospital, James sat in the waiting room for half an hour, wondering why on earth he had bothered coming. The room was decorated for fall, and Halloween, which was the next day. James loved Halloween. If only because it was a day when you were allowed to make little kids cry. Who wouldn't like that?

"James?" a young nurse asked, looking around the room. Her eyes landed on him. "Must be you."

"What makes you say that?" James asked, with a small grin. She smiled warmly at him.

"Your picture is in Doctor Realtor's office. Did you know you're on a wanted poster?" she asked with a grin. James was hard pressed to restrain from rolling his eyes.

"I wasn't aware Mark thought quite so highly of me," James said calmly. This made the nurse chuckle a little, before opening the door to the office.

"Doctor Realtor will be here in a moment," she said, closing the door with a soft click. James stared around the empty office, wondering how in the hell he had never seen it before, with all the times he had seen Mark.

But then he realized, with a snort, that since the age of three, he usually got a bimonthly check up- in the emergency room. He had never really actually needed to schedule an appointment, as he'd been at the hospital about once every two weeks. The nurses and doctors were baffled by him. He would spend about three nights there, and go through ten to twelve high school level books; at the age of four.

Mark walked in, wearing his long white doctor's coat, and carrying a clipboard. Without looking at James, he sat down, whistling, and opened a file on his computer.

"So," Mark said after a few moments silence, "how have you been?"

"Have you spoken to Andron recently?" James asked suspiciously.

"Nope."

"I'm doing great!" James said happily.

"Did your ankle brake again?" Mark asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course not."

"Sure."

"Why do I get the feeling that you do not believe me?" James asked, with a mock pout. Mark turned to face him, his eyebrow raised and his jaw set. The room seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature.

"When I became your primary physician two years ago, I received your file. I had received files before, you see, from my other patients. None more than, say, ten pages or so. When they gave me your file, I thought they were kidding. It was a box bigger than all my other patient files put together. What is your health insurance like?" Mark asked.

"I'm covered through the government, as I work for three separate government agencies," James said simply. "Why do I not recall having an appointment?"

"That would be because I made it for you, three hours ago. I asked a nurse to call you and tell you to come in. I have a problem I need your help with," Mark said calmly. "I'll pay for your appointment. It's my brother," Mark said quietly.

James walked into the Great Hall later that night, flipping through a notebook of notes he'd written for the Lycanthropy cure. It was a two hundred page, five subject notebook, nearly completely full of his strict compact writing.

"_At least you don't write like a Doctor," Andron often commented._

James completely ignored the rather frantic looking Order meeting going on in the Great Hall, intent upon making it to his rooms without-

"James."

-being called for anything.

"Yes?" James questioned the Headmaster.

"Werewolves are planning on attacking Diagon Ally within the next hour. Do you have any suggestions as to what we can do?" On the outside, the old man looked rather calm, cool, and collected. James, though, could see the fear in his eyes, hidden behind a mask of perfection.

"Andron and I developed a potion that would tame a wild werewolf. It was a complete accident, but I believe that all things happen for a reason," James said easily. Andron walked into the Great Hall from their shared quarters, a smirk on his face. He almost appeared to be baring his teeth.

"It will take about ten minutes to prepare fifteen gallons," Andron informed him. "We already have ten in the Lab. How do you propose we use it?"

"Boy, don't you remember how to use a Super Soaker?" James asked. "All the potion has to do is touch the werewolf."

"No way, man. Your water gun leaves _welts_, okay? That thing is vicious. _Especially when you decided to put chlorine in it_," Andron hissed. James shrugged, raising an eyebrow.

"I see no problem."

Andron nodded, before rolling his eyes and walking passed James. "Let's make the potion, then. This time, we're accidentally dropping your silver chain into it, got it?"

"If only to keep you from crying," James replied, following his friend to the Dungeons.

"I did not cry."

"You were sobbing."

"I do not cry."

"No, you sob."

"I do not."

"You do so."

"I haven't cried since we were six and you nearly blinded me with a chlorine filled water cannon!"

"Other than the time you cried when you dropped your chain in the potion?"

"Yes!. . . No! Damn it!" Andron nearly yelled. James suddenly swung around, turning to face the Order.

"By the way, tonight isn't a full moon," he said calmly.

"The Dark Lord has had several Potions Masters working on a way to force the change," Severus Snape intoned, causing Remus Lupin to flinch. James nodded sharply.

"That makes perfectly logical sense. I'm going to need anyone under the age of twenty to come with me," James said, continuing to his lab.

Sirius, Ron, Fred, George, Hermione and Ginny followed him; ignoring the protests of the older people.

Six Heavy Duty water guns were filled with the potions within minutes, and backpack reservoirs were added, to carry more ammunition. After explaining to Albus what was going on, James Portkeyed the group to Diagon Ally.

They were dressed in full SWAT team gear, including bullet proof vests, pads, and helmets. It all included an inner lining of Dragon hide to protect from spell damage, as well. All in all, they were eight of the most expensive and most protective battle clothes in the entire wizarding world. Because James only had seven of the Swat vests, he wore his old bullet proof, with no shirt under it, leaving his exposed arms an easy target.

The Ally was in chaos when they arrived. The Werewolves had just appeared, but it seemed the Death Eaters had been there for a few minutes, or long enough to have set some of the buildings on fire. It was a tactical nightmare, watching citizens run around like headless chickens, screaming. James and Andron walked down the middle of the Ally, spraying all of the loose werewolves, while the others promised to remain on the roof and spray.

James had filled one chamber of the soaker with the werewolf potion. The other chamber was filled with Hydrofluoric acid. It took several different spells and charms to be able to keep the corrosive acid contained in the plastic chamber, but James was dedicated.

Within five minutes, many Death Eaters decided they would rather simply turn themselves in tothe nearest Auror, than have their faces burned off by a teenager who was laughing maniacally. The Aurors simply stared as they ran passed fallen Death Eaters who lay on the ground screaming in agony.

"You see," James called, loudly and to no one in particular. "The problem with the Light side is; they do not attempt to scare anyone from the Dark. If you are a Dark wizard, and you are arrested, what the fuck is that going to do, eh? Now, if you take a Dark wizard and melt his skin off, maybe he'll realize that the Light means business." As he spoke, James blasted an approaching Death Eater, he fell in pain. "Dude, I was just talking about this."

"Oh, they'll learn eventually. . . We have company," Andron said calmly, nodding down the Ally. James looked, and found Voldemort himself staring back. There was a look of evil intent upon the man's face. Casually, James checked to make sure he had his nine millimetre holstered at his hip. Voldemort was twirling his wand in his hand, standing as if he didn't have a care in the world, wearing expensive looking black robes. His snake circling around him, hissing at anything that moved.

"Oi!" James called loudly. "I remember you! Sorry, I'm still working on getting Dumbledore to you, but I just can't convince the old man to let me stun him!" Voldemort cast a Cruciatus in his direction, and James allowed it to hit his arm. He showed no reaction; but he knew that if that curse was able to hit him in the chest, it could cause a massive and fatal heart attack. He took about twenty steps forward, before stopping ten paces from the Dark Lord.

"I see you did not leave the country, as most men would have in your position," the man before him commented with a careless air. James shrugged, thinking quickly. The man was within range of the soaker, but he was practically out of the acid. Tossing the soaker in front of him so that it landed halfway between himself and the Dark Lord, James drew his wand. "Going to duel me, are you?"

"Well, live or die, in the end, I still won't be as ugly as you, so it's not a bad deal," James said calmly. Voldemorts eyes flashed, and he sent a Killing Curse at James, who threw the protective helmet at it. He winced as it blew up. "Bad idea, that was expensive."

"Expensive?" Voldemort asked, lazily sending a slicing hex at him, which he sidestepped easily. "If you join me, you will be richer than any other man in the world," offered the Dark Wizard.

"If I joined you, I'd be as much of a hypocrite as you are," James deadpanned. The ominously red eyes flashed once more.

"All I ask is that you make me your master, and I will make you the most powerful man in the world. Masses will kneel at your feet. All I ask is that you kneel at mine," Voldemort said, in a charming yet slightly creepy way. James grabbed his upper left thigh, with a look of uncertainty; a look that masked the bubbling laughter that was threatening to escape.

"Such an offer only a mad man would refuse it. But the idea of kneeling... You see, slaughtering all those men of yours has left a nasty cramp in my leg. So kneeling is going to be hard for me," James said. He heard Andron's distinctive laugh through the other noises.

"You will die today," Voldemort coldly stated, levelling his wand. James mimicked his action, taking a defensive stance.

"Oh, buddy, with the number of times I've heard people in the medical profession speak those same words to me; they are meaningless."

James was only slightly less powerful than Voldemort, but they were surprisingly equal when it came down to ability, even considering Voldemorts experience; each got in a few and took a few. James got an amazingly lucky hit past the other's strong shield, sending him to the ground. With a strange tightness in his chest, and a pain in his arm, James took out the handgun from its holster. Aiming carefully, he fired. Sudden onslaught of more pain made him pass out before he fully registered what happened.

When Andron heard the shot, he both instinctively ducked, and turned to see what had happened. His eyes widened, and he wondered how such a _flaming_ idiot had made it past the age of six without blowing himself up.

James had fired a single shot, not at his fallen opponent, but at the water gun that lay between them. The plastic gun exploded, spraying corrosive acid all over both James and Voldemort. Luckily, Voldemort had taken the worst of it, due to the momentum of the bullet, but James arms were pretty badly burned. A loyal Death Eater ran toward Voldemort.

"Master!" he yelled, dropping to his knees. With a flash, they were both gone, most likely to find out what in the name of magic had caused the burns. Dumbledore was already at James' side, along with two Aurors, plus a few other Order members. An Auror was taking his pulse as Andron ran over and slid on his knees, stopping next to James.

"His heart's stopped. He's dead," the Auror announced. Andron looked at him, before knocking him to the ground with an irritated shove.

"Are you out of you little fucking mind. He can be resuscitated, you. . . You don't have a license to practice medicine, so fuck off." Andron pointed his wand at James heart after opening the vest. He muttered a spell that sent the magical equivalent of electricity into James, in an attempt to restart his heart. "James, wake up. I am not your own personal crash cart, you know!" To his surprise, James twitched.

"Why do you think I keep you around? It's not for my sanity," James weakly said.

"You're in a lot of pain. I'm going to put you out, so you don't go into any sort of shock," Andron said. "And you're _so_ lucky I'm a professional defibrillist!" James smirked as Andron put him to sleep.

"Take him to Hogwarts," Andron said to Dumbledore. "Put him in his bed, not the hospital wing, not anywhere else. The password is '_The public is wonderfully tolerant. It forgives everything except genius_'." Dumbledore nodded.

As he watched the two spin away, time seemed to slow painfully for Andron. How many times had he seen his friend taken for medical treatment, by it be Portkey, Ambulance, Helicopter, or stretcher? One thing for sure; Andron was ready to kick some sense into the lunatic, before he got both of them killed.

'_No sense of self preservation_,' Andron thought to himself. '_Either that, or he has a serious Hero Complex. Or a stupidity complex.'_

Albus landed as best he could in the Great Hall, taking care not to drop Harry. . . _James_. He walked through the doorway that would take him to the personal quarters of the two resident prodigies. The hall was rather plain, but very long. Albus didn't recall it being this long before.

He came to a statue at the end of the hall. Albus didn't recognize what creature it was, but it looked like it would be a Dark creature, for sure. He repeated the password Andron had told him, and the statue moved aside to reveal an ornate wooden door.

Albus pushed it open and walked into what appeared to be the living room. It was extremely clean, and after a hundred years of teaching teenage boys, he knew that cleaning was something no normal boy enjoyed doing. There were four doors leading out of the room, and Albus didn't know which one to use.

The first door he tried took him to the bathroom, obviously not James' room. The second door led to a bedroom, but there were a math posters on the wall, making Albus believe it was Andron's room. The next room, though, Albus easily recognized as belonging to James.

He set the boy carefully on the bed on the far side of the room, wincing when he saw the grimace of pain that it caused the child. As soon as he was fully on the bed, James curled into a ball. Albus thought he looked adorable, aside from the fact that James had curled around his arm, making it hard for him to do anything but sit by the bed. For a few minutes, Albus tried to get his arm back, but he didn't put much effort into the endeavour.

Andron arrived a few minutes later; his arms were loaded down with potions of varying colour and texture. His dark eyes, usually calm, were panicked and drawn, but his movements never betrayed this. He walked calmly and confidently, without falter or haste. He took a deep breath before putting all of the potions on a quickly conjured table.

"I see he's taken your arm captive," Andron said lightly. Albus looked at his hostaged arm once more, with a very slight smile on his face. "He usually holds a pillow when he sleeps, if he's sleeping lightly. If he's out too much, he could fall asleep on the very edge of a cliff and not give a damn until it's too late," Andron said conversationally. He took the half destroyed vest off of his friend, and examined him.

It was made inconvenient, however, by the fact that James was curled around Albus' arm. Albus carefully rolled James over so that he was on his back, and not his side. His arm was twisted into an odd position in doing so, but he didn't mind all that much. He carefully removed his arm, but held one of James' hands in his own, running his other hand through his hair.

It took all of Albus' strength to not throw up at the sight of his grandsons burned arms. It was only a small relief, in the end, that his chest and legs had been well protected by his armour, whatever that was made out of. On some parts of his arms, the burns were so deep, Albus could see bone. Blood, deep red and thick, congealing, oozed out and coated the sheets with dark stains.

"Not a pretty sight, then," murmured Andron. He began the complex task of healing James, and instructing Albus on how to help. "Feed him these potions, in this order," he said, quickly laying the required potions out. Albus did so, smiling in relief when the pain left James' face. "You should go check on your Order. He won't be up for a while."

Albus was shocked when he found that it had only taken an hour to stabilize and heal Harry. Andron was, apparently, a very good Healer. Albus nodded, and slowly made his way to the Great Hall.

Stopping just short of the door, he took a deep breath, calming himself before entering.

He had apparently opened the door to a world of pandemonium and chaos, where James Aaron Potter ruled supreme. Instead of trying to calm everyone down and restore order, as any sane person would, Albus' idiot son-in-law was provoking the hysteria.

"It's times like this," Albus said loudly, getting most people to quiet at least partially, "that I regret letting you take my daughters hand," he said coldly. James' mouth snapped shut, and he turned tomato red.

"Albus, I was just-"

"Doing nothing productive, as usual," said Albus in a tone more acidic than anybody in the hall had ever heard him use. "Would anyone mind telling me what all of this screaming is about?"

Of the thirty people in the Hall, Remus Lupin came forward.

"One of the Death Eaters that Har-_James_ mutilated is Peter Pettigrew. We've got him stabilized, but he won't talk unless you're in the room," Remus said calmly. Albus dearly wished this man had ever had the courage to ask Lily to marry him. Albus would have suffered fewer migraines in his life.

"I see," Albus said, spotting Pettigrew bound and gagged and tied to a chair in the centre of the room. "Well, talk, Mister Pettigrew," Albus ordered. The gag was removed, and Peter wailed.

"He knows! The Dark Lord _knows_! The prophecy, and about the oldest Potter twin. Before he attacked Godric's Hallow, the Dark Lord asked for a picture of the twins. When I gave it to him, he pointed to Harry and told me that's the one he was going to kill! Severus was told to brew a potion, and he did. I was told to get a lock of Harry's hair, and I did. The Dark Lord added Harry's hair to the potion, and made me give it to Lily and James for the month leading up to the attack," Peter said miserably.

"What did the potion do?" Albus asked, glancing at a pale Severus.

"The drinker would slowly start to dislike whoever's hair was in the potion. They would hold only dark feelings toward Harry. The potion would mask the love and care. The day of the attack, I went to Godric's Hallow and gave them another potion, a potion that would make them absolutely devoted to the other one, Sirius."

"You made me give up my son!?" screamed James, looking ready to blow up quite spectacularly.

"Well, I say thank you," said a calm voice from behind Albus. The Headmaster turned and saw James the younger standing there. "If it weren't for you, I would never have been able to amount to anything. I would never have met Andron, and I would not have been nearly as content as I am now," James said, slowly advancing.

Albus dearly wished that he had said 'happy' in place of 'content'. Who wanted to be merely content with their life? James walked forward until he was level with Albus. He stood right next to the older man, and to the casual observer, that's all it looked like. But James was actually mostly leaning against Albus. He was still rather weak.

After masking a shuddering breath as a long drawn out sigh with a little too much skill, James continued, "And I never would have had the awesome experience of dying; seventeen times."

"This is so fucked up!" James the older yelled, looking utterly confused.

"Jer_ry! _Jer_ry! _Jer_ry!_" chanted Andron, walking up to James' right side. "And the award for most dis-fucking-functional family goes to: the Potters!" There was a low chuckle from the younger James. "B'jesus, there are thirteen kids in my family, and we don't have this many issues."

"Thirteen?" Albus asked, thinking of how hard it had been for Molly and Arthur with seven.

"Fourteen, if you count Jamie-boy, here," confirmed Andron. "By the way, mom has reminded me that Thanksgiving is around the corner, and you're coming."

"Ooooh, I'll bring the ham," James said in a pleasant voice. Andron smiled almost politely.

"Lovely, I'll tell mom."

"Wonderful woman, she is."

"Ay."

The rest of the people in the hall fell silent at the utter absurdity and out of place context of that short exchange. Albus was almost befuddled by the complexity of the James/Andron friendship. Albus was looking for the nearest wall to bang his head against when Peter spoke again.

"Please, kill me," begged the balding man. "I've told you everything, if you have any sense of mercy, you'd kill me!"

"Alright!" James said, gaining an evil glint in his eye that Albus had only seen a few times in his long life. It was cold, calculating. . . evil.

"Whoa, you don't have to get all Hannibal Lecter on us," Andron said. James looked at him, and Albus couldn't see the look on his face.

"I don't want to eat his brains; just blast it across the room. Interesting difference, if you think about it. How many bullets do you think I could put in him before he dies? I say a dozen."

"Mm. You'd get out five before you bust a cap in his head and finish him," Andron said calmly. Albus nearly let out a growl.

"I'm sorry, but neither of you can kill him," he said calmly.

"Damn. I have to go anyway," James said, starting forward. "Murders don't solve themselves."

"Who was murdered?" Andron asked, bouncing along after his friend.

"Oh, some random guy."

"Nothing is random."

"Okay, so it was a colleague, or two. Someone in Santa Barbara is targeting cops." Andron fell into step with him.

"Oh, they're targeting cops. So you're going to run after them screaming, '_Freeze, I'm from the government, don't shoot me_!'?" Andron asked sarcastically.

"That is the preferred method. Something about _presumed innocent until proven guilty_," said James mockingly.

"Why did you go into criminal justice, if you don' believe in the system?" Andron asked, rolling his eyes and playing with the collar of his bright blue polo shirt.

"I do believe in the system, and I do believe in justice. I do not, however, believe in crime. Please excuse me for not liking people who do believe in crime," James said coolly.

"Is that why you're a professional undercover?"

"I go under cover because, honestly, how many people expect someone my age to arrest them?" James asked. He started down the steps, ignoring the pulsing pains in his arms.

"I did warn you not to do this," Andron said in a sing song voice.

"I usually do things AMA, thank you."

At the Gates, they apparated to separate places; James to Santa Barbara, and Andron to Oakland.

James casually walked through the Police Department, right to the Chief's office, where Shawn Spencer was having some sort of psychic fit. He merely raised an eyebrow as he closed the door.

"Dog, spot, eye. . . bull's-eye, target! Target, targeting! Targeting! Shield, badge; Police! Targeting police!"

"I had thought we'd gotten that far," muttered James.

Shawn threw himself bodily into Lassiter's not so ready arms, nearly sending both men to the ground.

"He's targeting officers associated with the arrest of his brother!" announced the psychic. Most people were surprised by that, it must have been new information.

After hours and hours of recounting the two incidents, and going over countless statements and crime scene photos, James left with the promise to be back bright and early in the morning.

Page 15 of 15


	14. Just Say NO To Illness!

Whoo! I posted chapter one exactly a year ago! For those who will read this, I have a whole host of reasons (excuses) for not updating sooner. I could name them, but it'll be longer than the chapter.

Over 500 reviews. . . that's more amazing than I could explain in words. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! And over 140,000 hits! Unbelievable!

**This chapter is thus far not Beta-ed** because it took me a few hours longer to wrap up than I expected, and I just sent it to my Beta. . . two seconds ago. ANd I wanted hte chapter up today, the 27th of my favorite month.

**Adari: **I'm sorry, but for the life of me, I can't remember if I've responded to your PM. I remember writing a reply. . . but not hitting send. Dear gods, I hope I sent it, because I had actually finally come up with something halfway intelligent sounding! Damn. . .

Prodigy

Chapter 14: Just say 'No' to illness!  
By: ChipmonkOnSpeed  
Warnings: Excessive swearing that took even me by surprise. Mentions of sex; nothing discriptive, sorry. ; ) And Remember, it isn't all finished yet!

* * *

"The Republicans have a new healthcare proposal: Just say **NO** to illness!" -Mark Russell 

_Sorry to anyone that's a Republican. . . but it was funny, and you know it._

* * *

Chapter 14

After spending the night at his apartment in Vegas, James apparated back to Santa Barbara. His head throbbed terribly, prompting him to take a few pills just as he pulled the door to the precinct open. He was greeted by the officer that reminded him of a puppy. Buzz, thought James. Although, in James' opinion, whoever had the short sightedness to name a child 'Buzz' deserved to be taken out and shot.

"Good morning, Officer," James said politely. Buzz, a tall well built man, smiled. James was sure that the man was a hero-worshipper.

"Good morning, Detective," Buzz replied enthusiastically. James nodded as he continued to the evidence room. Shawn Spencer was having another psychic episode, and his father, Henry, was also there with a bored look on his face.

"Okay," mumbled James, as Shawn, once again, threw himself into the arms of Carlton Lassiter. The Head Detective looked revolted. Shawn fell to the ground, panting. He popped up with a devilish grin.

"So, who's up for a smoothie? I'm thinking pineapple!" he said brightly. James wondered if he could sneak a few more Advil before things really got exciting. "You, Jamie, you look like you could use a smoothie."

"No, I got my share of smoothies last week in Hawaii," deadpanned James. Shawn's jaw dropped.

"You had smoothies in Hawaii?" he asked.

"No, last week I was locked in a lab in England," James said.

"Why would you torment me in such a way?" Shawn pouted. James raised an eyebrow and nearly sighed.

"What did this psychic reveal?" James asked. The chief stepped forward.

"Mr. Spencer is suggesting that the killer is an ex-cop," chief Vick said, glaring at the offending spirit talker. Henry Spencer seemed to like the idea even less. Although the odds were, the ex-cop had worked with Henry.

"Only my idiot son would suggest this without proof. Where's the proof, Shawn?" demanded Henry, looking ready to hit Shawn upside the head. "Karen, cops are being _killed_, and you call in Madam Cleo, Batman's Robin, and Doogie Howser!" snarled Henry.

"Hey!" Gus exclaimed.

"I resent that," Shawn calmly stated. James didn't feel the need to say anything.

"Honestly, this boy doesn't even have facial hair!"

"Perhaps I just shave better than you do," suggested James, quite coldly. "What are you suggesting?"

"That you're too damn young to know anything!" Henry growled. James nodded with a thoughtful look.

"I see," he said calmly. "Does the fact that I trained at Quantico, and went through basic Military training just _escape_ you?" he inquired.

"Oh you _know_ how to _do_ everything," Henry said, "but you don't know _how_ to _do_ everything."

"Perfectly logical thinking, for a person who does not have the full story." James pulled out an array of badges. "I work with the FBI, and the Las Vegas Police Department; I'm with the United States Special Operations, and I consult for the New York Police Special Victims Unit; I've done undercover jobs for Detroit, Berkeley, Oakland, San Francisco, Houston, Los Angeles, Berlin, and London. I've written _textbooks_ on _how_ to _do_ what you claim I don't know how to do," James said with a smirk. Henry turned to the Chief.

"Why did you hire Madam Cleo and Batman's Robin?" he demanded. Karen shrugged and turned to the dry erase board.

"Carlton, what do you think?" she asked. James sat in one of the many chairs, but he chose the one next to Burton Guster for reasons unknown to himself.

He watched the following debate with mild interest, yet he rarely gave his opinion. After the first few minutes, he took out a notebook and began making notes. He did a few rough sketches of the crime scenes, made lists, and finished the Soduko puzzle that he had started that morning over coffee.

Then he noticed something on his paper. He turned his head one way, and then the other. He bit his lip, and then he made a short humming noise.

"He's starting at the bottom," James said suddenly. When he knew he had everyone's attention, he continued, "When most people do this, they would start at the top, to eliminate the biggest target first. If you go after the Mafia, your main target is ultimately the head of the family. Whoever this is, well, any normal person would have gone after the head of the investigation, or the Chief, even the judge overseeing the case. This person went first after the Officer who secured the crime scene and taped off the area. The second target was a man on desk duty who does filing."

"Is he sending a message?" Juliet O'Hara asked. James looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.

"It very well could be. He could be saying it will only get worse. Or, he could just be arrogant. He thinks he's good enough to eliminate everybody, from the bottom up. Or, he could just be stupid. Does Spencer mystically know the name of the killer?" James asked.

"All he's given us, so far, is the name Bob," Juliet replied. James nodded at the light haired woman, and went back to staring at his notebook.

"Has the name Bob, and all variations of the name, been run through the system? If you match that to a case where the two victims worked together, you could find the killer. Then again, Bob could have nothing to do with it. Bob could, quite possibly, be the name of the killer's great-great uncle's _goat_," James said pessimistically. Juliet, who had nearly run out at his first sentence, rushed back in a second later.

"Robert Emerson!" she announced, waving a file folder. "His brother was arrested three months ago for murder; Robert was on the force for fifteen years. Both of the victims worked on the case, even from a distance. Most of the department was involved in that case, though. So, how do we find the next target?'' she handed James the file, at his request.

He looked it over for a few minutes, leaving the room in suspense. At Shawn Spencer's third muttering of, "Dude!" James nodded.

"Next in the order of least importance is," he double checked before continuing with, "Buzz McNabb. And then Gus."

"Gus?" Shawn asked, surprised. "This Gus? Burton Guster?"

"The very one!" James said. "But he is not the best person to assassinate. He is usually surrounded by police, spends most of his time in an office on a relatively busy street, and is friends with a psychic. However, oh it's _interesting_; the next target is a tie between three people. Detective O'Hara, psychic Spencer, and Chief Vick," James said. "But, thus far, I think that we need to talk to-"

"Chief, we just got an emergency call from Officer McNabb. He's being held in his squad car by a sniper," an Officer said, panting. He looked to be fresh out of the Academy, making James wonder if the Department actually had many experienced people on the force. "He's out by the docks."

"Thank you," the Chief said, calmly.

Within minutes, half of the Officers were mobilized and ready to go. Shawn led the way out of the building, and made it all the way to the first row of cars before gun shots were heard. A few cops made it to their squad cars and cleared the parking lot before they were hit. Shawn fell right next to James' black truck.

The chief ordered all people back into the building. Henry Spencer looked like he was holding off an artery bursting out of sheer will.

"Who do the cops call in an emergency?" Juliet mumbled. The Uniforms that had gotten away were contacted, and told to go help Buzz. Everyone else was stuck at the front doors of the precinct, just watching. When someone tried to go out, the shooter opened fire once more. James spent five minutes talking to the chief, before he opened the door and ran towards his truck.

He decided within steps that perhaps the shooter was using an automatic weapon. James managed to make it the hundred yards to his truck, only being hit once.

Shawn was lying prone on the ground, but when James examined him, he groaned and tried to move.

"Whuh-?"

"Shawn, I need you to lay still, can you do that?" James asked. He felt in his pocket for keys, letting out a string of derogatory remarks when he didn't find them. Looking up at the window of the car, he heard a bullet nearly crack through the bullet proof glass of the passenger side window. James thought through his options, and came up with braking the glass out of the driver side door. He did so in three punches, unlocking the door and letting himself in. He opened the back window, and stuck his arm out.

A bullet nearly grazed the back of his arms, and he could practically feel it shave off the hair. He let out a long breath as he fished around the toolbox under the window in the bed of the truck. He took out a couple of boxes, but nearly had to climb out of the window to get to the last box. He opened his mouth to swear, once more, as he could barely get his ribs through enough. He was happy he had, though, when a bullet went right through his cheek, grazing his right canine tooth as it exited out of his mouth.

James paused, and looked up at the sky, and said, "You know, if I believed in you, you and I would be having a serious talk right now, buddy."

He pulled back into the cab, and slid out the door, pulling the boxes with him. He started work on stabilizing Shawn. The psychic had a gunshot to his back, near his spine, and a single shot to the front, near his heart. After checking, James was glad to see that neither of the bullets had even so much as nicked an artery. Shawn was talking incoherently, obviously trying to say something.

James removed the bullets, wondering how they had entered from the back and front. He fixed the man up as good as he could, stopping the bleeding and stitching him up. He repaired the internal damage using muggle and magical means, but Shawn was still out. He woke the man with an _almost but not really_ illegal spell, and Shawn jumped, his eyes opening widely.

The wounds were covered with a mixture of gauze, ace bandages, and James' over shirt. They were held in place by one of the many ties James kept in his glove compartment. All in all, it looked very rushed.

"Whoa," Shawn said. "Ow!" He had not too gracefully experienced how tender his wounds were.

"Now, we have to get you from here, to that door, without further injury. Think we can do it?" James asked.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Shawn asked. This time, the older man slowly sat up, grimacing.

"Gunshot. Here's my plan. We get in the car, reverse to the door, get out, get into the building and have some coffee. What do you say?" James asked. Shawn nodded. "Get in, in," James ordered, helping Shawn into the truck. He got in after him, loading everything into the back, haphazardly. He jammed a pocket knife into the ignition and went backwards, full speed.

He turned sharply as he neared the stairs to the door. When the tires hit the curb, he slammed the brake.

"That feeling never gets old," he muttered. He got out, and Shawn went after him. He covered the man as they ran inside. Shawn collapsed onto the floor, staring at James.

"You are crazy," he said. "Gus? Where's Gus?" The man in question stepped forward. "How lucky am I that you're my friend, and not him?"

"Shawn. Shawn, are you okay?" Henry asked, kneeling down next to the man.

"James, you need to sit down, now," the Chief said. She led James to a chair, and turned to Juliet. "O'Hara, we need a bus. Tell them to come in the back; the parking lot hasn't been cleared for access. Carlton, could you please get a team out to search the area?"

"He's on the third story of a building. From the directionality of the bullets, he was northwest of the parking lot," James said, nearly choking on blood at the end of his sentence. It took him a moment to notice it was his own blood. "Damn it."

The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics assessed James' injuries efficiently, .

"Gunshot wound to the right calf muscle, gunshot wound to the face, entry through the left cheek, exited through the mouth; severe bruising and bleeding of the right hand, primarily around the knuckles, and three broken fingers; a broken wrist. Also, increased heart rate, and rapid breathing," the woman said, pushing James towards the ambulance.

"I am not breathing rapidly! This is how I breathe," James said calmly. She nodded, but didn't look like she believed him. "Aside from that, this little trip is a little pointless. I'll be just fine."

"Sir, you have broken bones. We're taking you to the hospital," the tall dark haired paramedic said. James smirked, laying back on the gurney.

"Is that what you say to all the cute ones?" he asked. The woman smiled, but shook her head.

"You have a gaping hole in your face. I think it's best if you don't talk," she said. James sighed. He looked at the top of the ambulance and hummed. And hummed. And hummed some more. "Do you try to be impossible? Because you're quite good at it."

"Aye, I practice," James said.

James pain tolerance was being pushed to the limit. His face was a constant fiery throb of pain, on top of his leg, which had taken a bullet as he was running. It felt as if his muscle had been ripped out of his leg be one angry giant. James was in the mood to sleep. Yes, sleep would help.

The fog was thick around him, swirling and pulling. 'Pulling? Does fog pull? Nooooooo.'

As he woke, he became more aware of what was going on around him. He opened his eyes, slowly, and all he saw was blurred colours that moved in slow, awkward patterns. He blinked a few times to clear his vision. A doctor he didn't recognize was standing above him, looking him over.

"I'h dohuh't liheh beiheh stirred ah," he commented. The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't staring at you, I was staring at your wound. It may scar pretty bad, you know," the man said. He had a long forehead and pale skin. His eyes were a dark blue and set deep in his face. A scar ran from under his left ear to the bottom of the middle of his neck. James had seen a picture of the man before, but couldn't remember his name. "How do you feel?"

"I dohuh't. Nuhhum," James said.

"Ah, that hasn't worn off yet, of course. It should, in a few moments. Your surgery went well; we were able to fix the hole. There was a minor chip in your front tooth, but that was fixed as well. There was surprisingly little damage for being shot. I removed the bullet from your leg. It had embedded itself in your bone; that caused some minor catastrophes."

"Hmm, while you were sleeping, huh?" James said to himself.

"My wife loves that movie; knows it word for word. Like I know Die Hard. Have you ever seen Die Hard?" the Doctor asked while feeling for James' pulse in his wrist.

"Seen it? I live it. Oooh, I can talk!" James said happily. He moved his jaw around, finding it a little uncomfortable to do so. But he did it anyway. Like a fly drawn to the light; he knew it would hurt, he just couldn't help it.

"Yes, I heard about your little adventure in front of the Police Department. Weren't you afraid?" asked the doctor, pulling forward a seat and leaning in to hear James.

"I've been in worse situations. I was afraid for the man I was saving, because I couldn't see where he had been hit. I've been shot a few times before," said James, with an air of nonchalance.

"And you keep going to work? You're braver than me."

"I love what I do. You don't stop working because of the blood, do you? Of course not, you love being a Doctor."

James' release from the Hospital was slowed by his face being infected. "Stupid Hospitals," James grumbled after the Doctor told him and left. "Damn Staphylococcus aureus. Damn it to hell. I'll sue if it gets in my bloodstream."

It was another two days before James checked in with the Police to make sure the case was wrapped up before he went back to Hogwarts. He walked right into breakfast and sat down between Dumbledore and Andron.

"Where yah been?" Andron asked around a mouth full of sausage.

"In the Hospital; my home away from home."

"Dude, what happened?"

"Dude, I was shot. Twice."

"Dude!'

"Dude."

"Dude?"

"D_u_de!"

"Like, Dah-_hu_de!"

"Dude."

"Duh-_yude_!"

"You're telling me, dude."

"What on earth did you two just say?" Minerva McGonagall asked.

"These people, can't even speak no proper English," Andron said, standing up while pulling out his newest cell phone. The old one had somehow been broken by James accidentally, when he mistook it as his own. "I gotta go. My girl be tellin' me all like I don't see her 'nough. I go see her e'ry damn day. She hella mad."

"And I don't know proper English?" McGonagall muttered snippily.

"Hell no you don't. You're speaking some uppity 'I'm better than you because I use whole words' _bullshit_. I spent the last seventeen years ah my life proving that it's not how you talk, it's what you say. An' whatever the hell I say, I still sound smarter than you," Andron snapped, leaving the hall. James finished his meal, ignoring the shocked looks that surrounded him.

"Don't mind him," he said, standing up, "it's how he was raised."

"How was he raised?" Albus asked with only a slight hint of both annoyance and concern.

"The middle child of thirteen, raised in a town where intelligence is mocked, and nobody can pass for above poverty. If you must know, his father skipped out when he was twelve, and two of his siblings are serving five years sentences in prison; and won't even think about getting out for another _ten_ years. He's also the smartest motherfucker I've ever met," James said. He turned to walk away.

James strode to the door that would lead to his room. He threw the door open and stalked down the hall, not stopping until he reached his desk. If he had to pick one place in the world where he felt most relaxed, James would have to say it would be sitting at his desk. In the desk drawer, locked in five different ways, were his most important documents.

Various diplomas, permits allowing him to ignore a few of the more frivolous laws, records proving natural American citizenship, his Last Will, records of his life and health insurance, his social security card; all of this on top of a notebook full of handwritten notes detailing all of the information related to the cure for Werewolves.

He was working on moving the notes from the blue-lined pages and onto his laptop. His scanner was kaput, slowing the whole process to near snail pace. He had to hand type all of it, which was more annoying than difficult. It involved spending a lot of time with his laptop.

James reached into the drawer thinking he would find his notebook. The book that was his life; it involved the work of his life. A completely full two hundred page spiral bound notebook packed with his strict compact writing.

He didn't find it.

James was up and out of his seat before he fully registered that the book was missing. He was in the Great Hall just as most students were rushing to the first class of the day.

"FREEZE!" he bellowed so loud that his own ribcage rang with the force. Everyone froze, even Albus stopped halfway out of his seat. James pulled out his gun, glaring around the room. "Give it to me, now, or I will start shooting randomly, and I really don't care who or what I hit."

"What are you looking for?" Albus asked, standing up.

"Whoever took it knows what it is," James snapped. "And I know Andron didn't take it, because he knows for fact that I'd turn him into a paraplegic. I will hold everybody in this hall until someone speaks. I will consider this an act of terrorism if someone does not speak soon."

"I think you're over reacting, James," Albus said calmly. James let out a wild growl.

"I think that the information contained in the book stolen from me could lead to the victory of Voldemort. On top of that, it could lead to the destruction of the world and the mass murder of thousands and thousands of people at one time. The information in this book is vital for the curing of many, many diseases," James roughly explained. His voice was cold as ice.

Albus' eyes widened, and then hardened as he turned to the students. He spoke to James without looking at him. "We'll search the school. All of it. No student moves." The old wizard turned to look at the four Heads of House, and continued, "If you could question every one of your students, please. Jim," he said, addressing the older James Potter, "organize the search."

Students sat back down looking quite upset. James sneered when he saw that they were upset over being held there, not that Voldemort could be walking up the steps with the knowledge of how to end the war. He was disgusted by their convoluted priorities. Oh, but _of course_! Who wouldn't agree that chattering with friends and _not_ paying attention in class is more important than life itself? _What_ _**was**_ James _thinking_?

Not the patient sort, James called Andron ten minutes later. He was walking down the middle of the Hall, in between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables; he paced furiously ten steps one way, ten steps the other. At each turn he positively whipped around, and if he had been wearing ropes, they would have slapped some students upside the head. Andron didn't answer for ten minutes, and in that time, James called him fifteen times.

Eventually, the man did pick up.

"James, I'm kinda busy, you know. . ." James heard a girl saying something angrily in the background.

"I do not care," James growled. "I do not care, and I would not care if you were the only person able to continue the species! And that had better not be who I think it is, because if it is, I will bust a cap in your. . ." he trailed off when he saw two first years staring at him, "_knee_." It was a lame finish, but he had made his point. "I work with her mother, you. . ." again, the students stopped him, "_idiot_."

"Unless this emergency spells the end of the world-"

"Listen to me, you mother fucking manwhore," James snapped, about two steps away from hysterical, "I need to know, _right now_, did you touch my book?" he asked.

"Hell no, I like my nuts right where they are," Andron said. "Oh dear Moses, it's missing isn't it? I'll be there in point two minutes!"

After hanging up with his best friend, James continued to pace. "Damn, when you get angry, you really do it up right, don't you?" his brother suddenly asked. James snapped around to look at where Sirius was seated at Gryffindor table. He smiled coldly, arching an eyebrow.

"You have absolutely no idea what it is like to have a real life. Sure, you go to classes, whine about homework, and drool over girls. Big deal, nobody gives a fuck. If you think that this is hard, you're a pansy. This isn't the half of it. Your life has yet to even begin; I don't even consider you fully human yet. You are, in essence, still a drone being taught normal humanoid behaviour. When you get a job, _or three_, you'll know what stress really is." James phone started ringing, and he answered it in a rush. "Stephen, I don't have time to talk," James said. As he went to close the phone, Stephen spoke.

"Wait! Important!" the man yelled. James could hear it a foot away from the phone. Stephen was an assistant of sorts to him. He kept an eye on James' money, his bills, and often held his schedule and such. James rarely spoke to him, as they often conversed through email or texting.

"What, Stephen?" he asked with a bite of impatience. He heard the other man take a deep breath.

"Your health insurance has been revoked," Stephen said. James let out a bellow of rage, and he tried to protest, but Stephen cut him off. "It happened before your last hospital visit."

Albus Dumbledore was a calm man, who rarely spoke in anger and almost never raised his voice. None of his offspring had inherited that trait. Lily had a vicious temper, and Sirius would yell and scream like a banshee when he didn't get his way. James, however, had a short rope, acerbic wit, a dour disposition, and boiling anger; all of the time without fail.

He was approaching his oldest grandson when the boy blew up.

"What are you on about!?" James hissed. "I spent a week in the hospital! For the love of god; the Ambulance alone will cost me a hundred dollars, or more! Stephen, I had four surgeries! That will run me up over five hundred thousand dollars! I don't have five hundred thousand dollars in my checking account! Why?" James asked. In the moment of silence, Albus took a step forward.

"James-"

"Pre-existing conditions!?" James suddenly yelled. "I was in perfect health when I got that insurance! General disregard for ones own wellbeing is not a pre-existing condition!" James snapped his phone closed.

"James, are you alright?" Albus asked, stepping next to the man. James looked at him with fire in his eyes.

"Dandy. My medical insurance was just revoked, because it has been decided that my weak heart, constant ulcers, and migraines were there before I took on there insurance; which isn't true, because I had to be examined by three doctors before they would declare me in good health. My heart wasn't weak until my heart attack last year, and the ulcers are stress induced. I got the first one six months after getting the insurance," James said angrily.

"Why would you need insurance?" Hermione Granger asked.

"To, uh, not be turned away at the doors of the hospital as I slowly bleed to death," James sarcastically replied. "I knew someone, years ago, that died from complete kidney failure because he didn't have insurance. He couldn't pay for the two hundred thousand dollar surgery up front; he was denied the operation and died two months later. Now where am I supposed to get my pills?" Albus was distracted by the sound of paws, plural, and a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. A huge dog was about to leap on him.

James intercepted the beast's teeth with his own arm, saving Albus' face. "Hi there, Sunshine!" James said in a tone close enough to happy to pass for a positive emotion. He was happy, even though he was bleeding from the arm, and a hundred and twenty pound fighting dog was still latched to the appendage. "Was Andy nice to you?"

Looking up, Albus saw Andron standing at the entrance to the hall holding another dog's leash, and a muzzle. "Me? Nice to him? He damn near got away with the family jewels, you lunatic."

"You have a fear of losing your testicles, don't you?" James said with ease.

Andron glared at James for a full ten seconds, before he started laughing. "You know me too well, my friend. And Lindsey wouldn't be too happy with that event, either."

"No! I don't want to hear it! I work with her mother, you sex-fiend. And why were you at my house?" James asked as he walked toward Andron. The dog on his arm let go at a whispered command. Andron's face looked like a man sentenced to death.

He coughed a little, replying, "What makes you think I've been at your house, buddy?"

"You have my dogs. That live at my house. In Nevada. In Vegas. Where Lindsey lives. . . Oh, that's sick! Why!? Please tell me you washed the sheets!"

"James!" Albus said, looking around at the young faces, most of which had turned bright red.

"Didn't have to, man, we used the table!" was Andron's bright reply.

"I can no longer speak to you." James knelt down by the dog next to him, the one that had recently taken chunks out of his arm. The dog, a vicious looking thing with sharp white teeth and blazing yellow eyes, looked up at James with his tongue hanging out innocently. "Hey, Sunshine. I need you to find something for me, alright? Good," James said, nodding firmly. He waved his hand, and a slivery blue mist appeared in front of the dog's nose. 'Sunshine', the very dark brown dog, sniffed. Albus nearly cringed at the Hagrid type name for the dog. He couldn't believe that the deadly looking dog was given the name of something so innocent and friendly.

James looked down at his favourite puppy with a smirk. A dark brown, nearly black, pit bull-rottweiler mix that had stolen his heart the first time he had seen the small puppy fives years previous. After that fateful day, James had acquired six more dogs, and Sunny's mate was expecting a seventh.

For some reason, James found it easier to interact with dogs than people; mostly because dogs don't respond with words.

"Ready, Sunny?" James asked in a tone resembling a parent talking to a toddler. Sunny barked and threw his front paws toward James' face. "_Go get 'im_!" Sunny took off at a run, sniffing around. James followed his movements with a grin, knowing that whoever had the book would be wetting themselves at the sight of the attack dog.

"He can recognize the scent of a spell?" Albus asked, coming nearer.

"You don't like dogs, do you?" James asked his grandfather. He could tell by the older man's pale complexion and nervous look.

"Of course I do," protested Albus. "Just not in person." James laughed quietly.

James then really took notice of the dog calmly sitting against Andron's leg.

"What's Popsicle doing here?" he asked, looking at his long time friend. "She shouldn't be travelling."

"She wanted to come. Beside that, Rainbow has been after her for a while. I found out, quite horrifically, why you named that dog Rainbow. You weren't fucking around," Andron said, shaking his head.

"Yes, she's an interesting one, isn't she? The name, however, was purely coincidental," James replied, not really focusing on his friend at all, but on the dog that seemed to be running in twelve directions at once. Sunny had started off near the door to James' room, and worked his way half way around the castle within ten minutes.

It seemed the attack dog had made up his mind, and had set its eyes on a single person. He lunged, and at the same time, James drew his wand to disarm the dog's victim before they could harm Sunshine.

At the last moment, the dog changed direction, shooting off to the other end of the hall, and taking down one man. The man screamed in shock and pain as Sunny's sharp teeth pierced the skin of his arm.

Albus gasped in shock, and most of the students stared with wide eyes. James said the release word, and when Sunny was out of the way, he bound the bleeding man.

"This'll take some explanation. . ." Andron said, in a partly strangled, partly ironic tone.

'_So many things would need explaining_,' James though bitterly. '_My insurance, or lack thereof, Mark's involvement in the decision, and now this? Who would have thought that this man could do this?_'

Sunny trotted over, wagging his tail happily at his success. James smiled at his, but it was mostly empty. Apparently sensing his turmoil, the dog licked his hand. Because that's what would make James feel better. . . dog slobber.

And, in an odd way, it did.

* * *

So, who's the evil bastard that stole The Book? You'll have to wait and see.

Thanks for reading!

ChipmonkOnSpeed


	15. Risk and Relaxation

Story: Prodigy  
By: ChipmonkOnSpeed  
Chapter: Risk and Relaxation  
Disclaimer: No one who has read the previous chapter is reading this, I am sure of it. SO I will make this short and say that I do not own _**Harry Potter, Crime Scene Investigaction, House MD, Grey's Anatomy, Numb3rs, Psych, Law and Order:Special Victims Unit, Naval Criminal Investigative Services, or. . . I think there's more...?  
**_Warnings: Not much this chapter... Except that this is the unbeta-ed version. And there is** no major cliffie at the end!**

* * *

"_I do not want to achieve immortality through my work... I want to achieve it by not dying!"_Woody Allen, I beleive.

* * *

**Chapter 15  
Risk and Relaxation**

Standing in the spacious and bright Headmaster's office not ten minutes after finding out who had stolen the book, James was content to blend into the shadows and simply observe the complete chaos. Andron stood next to him, smirking slightly. Sonny sat at their heels drowsily, letting his tongue hang out as he dozed. 

James could stand controlled chaos if he was the one controlling it, but in this case, there was no control. Members of the Order were gathered around the room, yelling and hollering at each other, near equally on the subject at hand. 

One man was silent; he was the man all of the arguing was about. His arm was bandaged tightly, yet small red spots still appeared on the otherwise pristine white cloth. He sat hunched and miserable looking, while twenty people argued over his fate. Should he be imprisoned? Or given the Dementor's Kiss? Or forgiven?

Albus believed that he should be forgiven: His reasons were quite reasonable!. . . Though he had not thought it prudent to share those reasons with anyone else. 

Lily Potter was all for Him going to Azkaban: Reasonable or not, he had stolen, from her son, no less! 

Jim Potter wanted the man Kissed: Nothing was reasonable about what he had done! 

But James wasn't interested in them, not really, anyway. He was more interested in the man himself, seated so far away from the rest. James felt there was more to the story, more to be said, more that Albus wasn't saying. That in mind, he sat down on the oak desk before the man, and looked him in the eye.

"Why?"

An obvious question, but one that Severus Snape did not want to seem to answer. He looked up with something close to offence in his eyes. But of course, he had already told the Headmaster, why would anyone else matter? The Headmaster, however, told him to speak. Severus did so, but James could tell the man wasn't happy about it.

"I have worked on this cure near two decades. I do not think its right for some young upstart to be hired and get all the praise. I've worked damn hard for this! I deserve to have my name on it!" he said. 

"So," James said, "you stole me life's work just so you could be _better_?" 

"That's juvenile!" Andron said. James glanced up at his friend who remained in the shadows, and he smirked. 

"He's right, you know. It was a rather selfish and stupid thing to do. There are things in there that people would kill to know," James said. Severus tilted his head, before shaking it in a determined way. 

"It was written in gibberish, anyway. I've never seen any such code," Snape said. He was coming to irritate James more and more. 

James took the book off of the Headmaster's desk, and flipped it open. "74-63I-63I-105I/105I-8-63I-50'52I/74-8-37I-19," he read off. 

"That's _not_ gibberish," Andron said. "I understood everything!" Snape sneered as he turned to look at Andron.

"Then you're just as much of a freak as he is." Andron's jaw dropped and he got a really angry look on his face, before James intervened. 

"Now that things are getting heated, let's settle them, hmm? Are you quite certain, Severus Snape, that you did not steal this book for other reasons? Perhaps to share it with... a friend, perhaps?" James asked. Snape tried to stand, but he was restrained by invisible bonds, rendering him motionless.

"If you're attempting to imply that I took it for Voldemort, you're more far gone than your father!" Snape snapped. James simply smirked in reply. 

He started pacing in front of Snape. "Of course that's not what I'm implying. Mostly because I know you didn't take the book. If you remember, Sunny went toward another person, before you. Meaning that someone else had the book before you, you were just in possession of it. So tell me, why did Theodore Nott have my book?"

Snape was silent a moment, before he said, "The Slytherins do not like you. It was a dare." 

"I see. So he really had no idea what he had? Right. Why then, did you not give it back to me, if you had it? Why then, did you not give it back when I announced it stolen?" James asked. Snape seemed to bite back his first answer.

"Because, you twit, I didn't want my Slytherins to get into trouble. I was planning on sneaking into your rooms and leaving it there in the chaos." James nodded.

"With the added benefit of making me look like an idiot. Good thinking. You didn't expect me to pull a muggle and track it down, did you?" James leaned closer to Snape. "If you ever do something so blatantly stupid again, I'll report you, and you will lose your Potions Mastery." James started to the door. "Oh, and on top of that, now all of the students that didn't know you were a Death Eater, well, they probably do now."

Andron followed him out of the door and down the winding staircase. "Hey, where're you going?" 

"Well, D-Ro, I have to see a man about an esophagogastroduodenoscopy."

Andron was left standing in the middle of an abandoned corridor, wondering how in the hell he'd been stuck with such an absurdly strange friend. 

James took a walk down to the Gates of Hogwarts, planning his day in his mind. It wasn't often that he got to walk the path he was taking, as he usually ran, so he tried to enjoy it. Students milled about on their lunch hour, some of them giving him curious looks, some of them just avoiding his gaze. 

Sirius walked up and fell into step with him. "So," his brother said, "what happened?" James sighed and slowed his pace a bit.

"I can't tell you everything, really, to protect certain people, but what I can tell you is important. Severus Snape had the book, but he wasn't trying to give it to Voldemort."

"Oh. Why are you leaving?"Sirius asked. James was happy that he didn't have to answer any more questions about the book. 

"I'm going to go yell at several people until I get satisfactory answers." Sirius smirked a little. 

"Is this about your insurance? Why do you need insurance? What does it do?" James turned his head to look his brother in the eye. 

"Where I come from, you have to pay insurance companies money every month. If you ever have to go to the hospital, the insurance will cover the cost. If you need medication, there's a co-pay that you pay. All of the pills and stuff I take, cost me fifteen dollars a week, instead of fifty."

"But…why is it there?" Sirius inquired. James stopped and turned to face him fully. They were about even in height, and looked each other in the eye.

"I don't know."

James walked into Grissom's office, startling the man who sat poring over papers. "Hello, Grissom. Miss me?" The other man stood from his desk, not taking his eyes off James' face. 

"You never leave long enough for us to miss you, James. Do you need something?" 

"I need to borrow half a million dollars." 

Grissom stumbled; how he managed that while standing still confused James. "You need what?" James nodded and sat down.

"I have medical bills to pay. You may be asking yourself why my insurance isn't covering it. I have an answer. My insurance was revoked," said James. Grissom looked confused for a moment. 

"That's not possible, James. You are a Federal Employee," Grissom stated. "You should be covered."

"Should be, but I'm not. Apparently, since I am taking a forced sabbatical, I am not working for the government. My insurance company is claiming that I had pre-existing conditions when I began working for the FBI, thus my insurance there is also void. Same with Santa Barbara."

"I don't know what to say, James. I will, of course, help you in any way possible. How did this debt come about?" 

James explained the situation to the older man, who looked quite confused throughout the entire thing. When James asked why, Grissom only asked, "Is it possible to remove the recklessness from your brain surgically?" 

"Possibly. I could get Andron to try it," he replied. "But this is beside the point. You're my supervisor, so, what can be done?" 

Grissom went silent for a few minutes, before he looked at James. "You were made a CSI level two, by the way." James blinked several times before he registered what was said. 

"Don't I have to be here to do that?" he asked without any of his usual intelligence. 

"Apparently not; especially when Henry Spencer has a few friends in the Las Vegas justice system things are just made to happen. You just have to close a few more cases before you're made a level three. Congratulations." James shook his head at the way the world worked, and moved on. 

"Can I sue?" he asked. 

They discussed the insurance issue for two more hours, going over all the options. 

While James was ready to say he was the smartest person in the world, he knew he really wasn't. He might have been intelligent, but Grissom had experience with the world. He'd been around the block a few times. He didn't seem to have anything near James's ability to dive headfirst without looking. 

After avoiding Catherine on his way out, James headed to his apartment. Just as a precaution, he took a can of disinfectant. Just to be sure. He walked into his kitchen, and burned the table on the spot with a handy spell. Satisfied, James cleaned up the ashes and burned them once more in the trashcan. To be completely sure, he emptied the entire aerosol can of bacteria killing disinfectant in the kitchen. 

Afterwards, the room couldn't possibly contain a single cell of living bacteria, and it smelled strongly of a sweet citrus. He left his apartment with aa air oftriumph.

It took days for the insurance to be cleared up, and it only ever happened because James threatened to sue them with the two best lawyers in the world on his side; Andron, and Himself. That multi billion dollar company ran screaming without looking back. The even agreed to pay him a hundred thousand dollars for the stress they caused him. His benefits were given back to him without another word.

Thanksgiving arrived far earlier than James expected. After the sixth years had finished preparing the lunch, James commandeered the kitchen for his ham cooking. It was one of the most beautiful things James had ever seen in his life, and he knew he would get emotional when it was carved. 

Andron, however, waited until the last minute to get ready. As the Hogwarts students ate dinner, he ran around like a headless chicken screaming that he would be late. James sat calmly and watched him, failing to remind his friend that there was ample time before they had to leave. Andron tended to forget about the time change between the UK and California. 

"James! How are you just sitting there? We have to leave! Hurry up! Let's go! We're going to miss kick off! I have money on this game!" Andron shrieked. He stood in the centre of the hall, staring at James as he strolled over. 

James had gone for business casual in his attire, instead of the 'thug casual' he usually wore. James was a fan of the hustling business. Just as the Hogwarts staff had done upon meeting him, most people underestimated his intelligence, leaving him with a wide advantage. 

He smirked at Andron, who had tried to dress up as well; Andron considered wearing a clean shirt _dressed up_. "DeeDee, you worry too much. Slow your roll, get a grip, relax, take a deep breath. Have you decided what you're thankful for this year?" 

The previous year, Andron had tried to come up with something he was thankful for on Thanksgiving. All he could come up with was, "Uh... stuffing?" 

"Yes, actually, I have. Safe sex charms! Comfort _and_ protection!" Andron announced. James slapped his palm against his forehead, muttering. "Well, what's yours?" Andron challenged. 

"The Human Genome Project. Duh. If only I'd been born ten years sooner. . ." James said wistfully. Andron shook his head. 

"Only my friend. Only him. No one else would give a flying fuck. Jeez, Jay, the only normal thing about you is that you're an alcoholic!" 

"I am not an alcoholic! I just choose not to stop."

"Could you stop?" 

"That's not something I'm willing to find out!" James said with determination. Andron stopped walking and slugged his arm.

"You still smoke, don't you?" he demanded. James led the rest of the walk out of the hall. 

"Of course."

"So you drink and smoke, anything else?" 

"I eat and sleep, as well."

"Bastard."

"You know it."

The rest of the day was entertaining. With Andron having so much family, the small house that was used for the dinner held over a hundred people. Feeding so many people was damn near impossible, as well. The dinner was usually an all out war for the best food. James and Andron generally won, due to their skill with steak knives, and their knowledge of human anatomy. 

Andron's mother was one of James's favourite people in the world, because she was unfailingly nice to him, and had been all of his life. She was a plump woman with an accent from her birthplace of a remote African village, and sometimes she would start ranting in her native tongue. James never could quite recognize just what it was. 

She had married a German immigrant after getting to America herself. They had thirteen children, all of which had a dark caramel skin tone, and the German name of Schwartz. 

It had made growing up in the lower class part of a rough neighbourhood hard for Andron and his twelve siblings. The oldest was thirty, the youngest was eight, and Andron was somewhere in the middle. 

James loved being around the huge family, because they accepted him so naturally. It was a great feeling. Even the two imprisoned brother had both told him that they would 'have his back if anything ever went down'. 

After the football game, and the dinner, and the drinking, James and Andron made their way back to Hogwarts. It was strange that all of the students were eating breakfast. 

James walked with one arm around Andron, and the other holding both a dark brown bottle and a cigarette. 

Andron pulled on James's arm and took a swig of whatever was in the bottle; James really didn't want to know, it was something Andron's uncle made every year. It was the most intense alcohol James had ever tried, making it the most appealing. 

"I think we should stop drinking," declared Andron as he stumbled up the two steps it took to get from the floor to the raised platform the teacher's table was on. "Seriously."

"Ey, that's on my list of things to stop doing. Right next to breathing."

"Dipsomaniac."

"Am not."

"I recently witnessed you pour whiskey on your cereal, and vodka on your pancakes. You don't think there's anything wrong with that?"

"So long as it does not inhibit, derail, or otherwise hinder my work, nope, no problem," said James.

A week later, James was called into a Seattle hospital with an emergency. He got there, only to find the same doctor who had once treated him was the one who had called him. The stood at a nurses station swinging his cane in his fingers. When James walked up, he looked at him with blue eyes. 

"James Potter? Good, follow me." They started walking, and James was surprised by the pace the man was able to keep. "I'm told that you are not ignorant when it comes to medicine. Considering what I saw last year, I thought I'd give you a call. This woman was brought in two days ago by relatives she had been visiting. Her liver is failing, so are her kidneys. She's had a few major seizures since she's come in. I give her twenty four hours."

They came to a stop in front of a sliding glass door that was covered by vertical blinds. Gregory House pushed the door open and both of them stepped through the threshold. The room held a scattering of flowers, which did a semi decent job of decorating the otherwise colourless room. In the middle of the room against the wall was a bed. On the bed was a woman that looked to be in her mid to late teens with dark red hair. 

Tubes travelled every which was, controlling her breathing and such. An IV ran into the back of her hand; drip, drip, drip. 

James noticed one thing without taking a further step into the room, and that was that the woman was a witch. Drake had taught him how to sense magic, and it had been one of the hardest things he had ever learned in his life because he had no natural ability for it; unlike Andron who was sensing such things from a very young age without any training. 

It was important that James knew the woman was a witch because that opened up thousands of magically related diseases she could have contracted. Magic had a way of turning deadly inside the body under certain conditions. 

"Is the family available for me to speak to?" James asked, turning to look at the other doctor. He nodded shortly and turned to point his cane at a frightened looking little group in the waiting room, before saying that the girls name was Alicia West. James walked out to them and sat down gracefully beside them. 

"Hello. I am Doctor James Potter. I need to ask you a few questions." The middle aged man with greying brown hair looked irritated. 

"We've been asked every possible question by those other doctors!" he snapped. James nodded, and smiled in a non threatening manner. 

"I understand that what is happening is stressful, but I do have some important questions. That is a beautiful cross," he said suddenly, 

nodding to the woman next to the man. She looked a bit surprised, but then took it in her hand and looked at it. 

"Thank you. My grandmother gave it to me," she said. 

"It's lovely. Now, may I ask how long Alicia had been staying with you?" James asked. 

"Three weeks," the woman answered. "The school she boards at was closed down for some reason. Her mother asked us to take her in. We were at church on Sunday when she went into fits. Right in the middle of the sermon."

"Oh? Do you go to church every Sunday?" James asked. The woman nodded. "What was the topic of the sermon?" 

"Witchcraft. She was fidgeting through the whole thing. Her mother does not make her go to church, I don't even think my sister goes, either, to tell you the truth. Alicia is my niece," the woman said as an after thought. 

"Do they not believe?" James asked. 

"My sister used to, I think. Then a few years back she gave it up. Alicia was around eleven, I think." 

"I see. That's all I needed to know, thank you." James stood up and walked back to the girls hospital room. When he was near he bed side, she started seizing again. Not that it as a good thing, but James was happy that he was their when it happened. The frequency of her magic signature during the seizure could tell James what kind of magical disease she suffered from.

He waved his hand above her head and stopped the seizure. James theorized that the stress of living with a family that unknowingly thought she was a horrible person had caused chaos with her magic. It was rare, but happened in certain cases. The pastor preaching about the sins of witchcraft would only have pushed her over the edge. 

Often times, religious anti magic type people changed their tune when their children were found to have magical talents. It was apparent that this girl's mother did not want to tell her own sister for fear of being hated. 

Not always, though. Andron's family was devotedly Christian and all magically talented. It really just depended on the person. 

James determined that it was her magic clotting in her muscles and nervous system. That was something James had never seen before. He would have to find a way to treat her, without letting anyone in the hospital know that she was a witch, and he a wizard. 

"Damn," he muttered to himself, "how do I always get myself into these things?" 

James gracefully walked to the door of the Great Hall of Hogwarts to talk to Andron, who was walking out of the door that led to their rooms. "Andron, girl in magical shock. Hours away from death. In a muggle hospital. With muggle relatives. Uber conservative muggle relatives. I need a favour." Andron shook his head. 

"Oh no! I am not robbing a hospital. Nothing you say will make me do it!" Andron said with determination, slamming his fist into the table in front of him. James raised an eyebrow. 

"You took an oath to always protect those around you, no matter the risk to yourself," James exclaimed with an air of superiority. Andron showed no reaction. "I'll give you five hundred dollars." Andron smirked and walked toward him, pulling a bandana out of his back pocket. 

"Now you're speaking my language, Potter. What's the plan? Standard in-out?"

"I was thinking you're a drug addict looking for a fix. I need a distraction around this girl's room. All I have to do is inject you with the right potion."

"Oh, and I get to risk my career, my life, and my reputation; and you come out the hero?" Andron asked, tying the bandana behind his head so that his chin, mouth, and nose were covered by the balck and white fabric. 

"That's the plan. Ready? Oh, avoid House; he's the only armed person in the place."

"He carries a gun?"

"A cane."

"Oh."

James walked into Alicia's hospital room, carrying three vials and three syringes under his long white coat. The blond doctor, Chase, was just opening the door behind him when Andron burst into the hospital. Chase ran out while Andron was causing mayhem and mischief.

They had planned for Andron to cut off any and all security cameras with a burst of magical energy tuned to the cameras. 

Working quickly, James was able to get the potions into her bloodstream, before vanishing all evidence. Alicia's vitals returned to normal within seconds, and James sensed her magic thinning and flowing freely as it should. 

The fire alarm went off, soaking James as he ran toward the scene. Andron was dressed as a robber; bandana, reflective sunglasses, hat, overly big sweatshirt. He had one of James' automatic weapons and was waving it freely. In a deep and nearly unrecognizable voice, he was demanding, "Morphine! Acetaminophen! Pepto Bismol! Viagra!" 

James paused in pulling out his rubber bullet loaded gun to stop himself from laughing. He planted his feet, squared his shoulder, and pulled the trigger one, two, three times. Shoulder, knee, and . . . somewhere in between. Andron let out a scream as he dropped to his hands and knees. 

"Ah! Son of a bitch! Lord love a duck!" his voice made it seem like he was nearly crying. Hospital security dragged him up, but Andron broke away and ran out. 

Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine at the teaching hospital, came storming toward him. Her heels clicked violently as she walked. "What did you think you were doing? Firing a weapon in a hospital full of people?" 

"I was thinking that it would be better if a fully trained law enforcement officer fired a non lethal weapon, than if an inebriated teenager with a fully automatic weapon fired. Don't you think? Alicia West is waking up." 

"She… what?" Cuddy asked. "House gave gave her another twelve hours to live. _What did you do?_" Cuddy demanded in a suddenly deadly tone. 

"Ai, I did nothing. Per se."

Cuddy got a disbelieving look on her face, before she shook her head. "You and House; both cut from the same cloth." 

"I am nothing like him. He's a pill addict with a drinking problem, and I'm a drinking addict with a pill problem. See! Polar opposites! If I may be excused, I have an emergency in England to get back to," James said.

"How are you getting to England?" Cuddy asked as James walked away. 

"Magic!" he said happily. She looked confused as he walked out of the glass door. 

When he walked into the Great Hall, James noticed two things instantly. The first thing was that the order was holding a meeting; the second one was that Andron was standing centre stage, glaring at him. 

"Whoa buddy," James said. Andron sucked in a deep breath before exploding into a rant. 

"What is wrong with you? I'll never have children! You two faced son of a two faced pig! How dare you?" howled Andron. James smirked. 

"I know human anatomy, Schwartsy. Why do you think I took aim first?" James deadpanned. He tried to bypass the other man, but Andron topped him with an arm. James looked over and saw Andron standing with the same gun he'd had earlier at the hospital. "Whoa, let's not get any ideas, here." 

"I want my five hundred dollars, and whatever it will cost me to ever be able to have children!" the enraged boy roared. James smirked. 

"I say I did the world a favour. The thought of you spawning anything is frightening." Through all of this, the Order had simply ignored them, until they heard Andron fire a shot. Just one. 

The rubber bullet hit James in the upper stomach with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He pulled up his shirt and revealed the instant bruise that had blossomed there, covering the entirety of the middle of his abdomen. 

James looked up at Andron and shook his head. "Oh, it's on. No pansy ass little math nerd is about to shoot me and get away with it. I'm a federal agent; I could have your ass put away for years." James said. Andron smirked widely, still holding the gun in a firing position.

"Tag. You're it."

Summoning his shotgun to himself wandlessly, James smirked back. Andron's smiled faltered when he saw the riot shotgun James held. It was a short barrelled one that only military and police personnel were legally allowed to carry. Andron backed up.

"Oh, dear. Please tell me you're packin' rubber." 

"Mmhhmn. Rubber buckshot." James cocked the gun with only his right hand, and he never took his eyes off Andron. They were standing about twenty feet from each other. "Oh, hey, now, this isn't fair. You have an automatic weapon, and here I am with a pump action shotgun." James paused a moment, then shrugged. "Oh well." He fired at Andron, who took the shot to the stomach. The dark skinned man fell to the ground in a heap.

"Jesus lord almighty. Why in the blistering hell do I do this to myself?" Andron mumbled. 

"Tag! _You're_ it!"

After Andron got up, they went on playing 'tag', until someone said something. 

"What has come of the world?" a very old man next to Dumbledore asked out of the silence. "Have I truly lived long enough to see the decline of the human race?"

"Whoa buddy. I haven't even gotten to the electro shock weapons yet," James said in indignation. Andron walked up beside him, and both of them looked at the old man. 

"Electro shock weapons?" Andron asked with a hint of surprise. "They let _you_ have those?"

"Perhaps. I might have borrowed them. Ish." Andron rolled his eyes. 

James's cell phone rang, and that was the end of his relaxation time. Work beckoned as it always did. 

He was being called to Los Angeles; something about a missing ambassador? 

Albus looked at his long time friend as James walked out of the Hall. "Well, Nicholas, that was my oldest grandson, James." 

Nicholas looked like he had many things to say about James. 

* * *

Lily will be in the next chapter. I think. A lot of this chapter was background development, plot (yes, there is one) development, and showing that James isn't as perfect as he would try to let you believe. 

I want you all to know; it'sbeen less than a month so...OWNED! Yes! I amaze myself! It wouldn't have taken this long, but I wrote a 70 page creative writing "short" story for my friend, whocommandeered my writing timefor a month toget her an A. Blame her! 

Yay!

ChipmonkOnSpeed


	16. A Need For Speed

**OVER 200000 HITS!** AAAAAAAAA! I LOVE YOU GUYS! In a totally platonic way, of course. Except you, Freckles. You're on my List. (Did that sound ominous, because that's what I'm going for...)

I want you all to know that I sent this to my Beta THREE weeks ago. Her fault not mine. A thousand words longer than the last one, enjoy.

* * *

James wandlessly sent back his shotgun, and summoned his jacket. Another person called him as he exited the room, so he never noticed the look sent to him by Nicholas Flamel.

"I don't like him," Albus heard Nicholas say. He turned to his long time friend as the rest of the Order continued on speaking and debating.

"You didn't even talk to him, Nicholas," Albus admonished. "How could you know if you like him or not?"

"Albus, I've been alive for well over six centuries. I know how to read people, and I know what I like in a person. I do not aim to offend you, Albus, but your grandson is arrogant and foolish. A lot like his father," Nicholas said, nodding to Jim Potter. Albus nodded, looking at the table in front of him.

"And his grandfather," he added. Nicholas chuckled softly.

"I wasn't going to say that, but yes. He is young, though. There is hope for him yet, just as there was for you." Albus smiled at his old mentor.

"And look how I turned out."

"Heaven help us all."

James entered the FBI office in LA to find barely restrained pandemonium. Agents walked passed with determination and scowls. They carried papers and reports and folders and cell phones. Only a few of them glanced at James, and those that did only to make sure he had a clearance badge.

He made it to Don Eppes with no outside interference. The older man was updating his Agents on the latest breakthroughs of the case. James got there the same time that Charlie Eppes did; they met at the door with a handshake and a nod.

When Don first asked James to work for the FBI, Charlie had been offended. Eventually, though, he got used to James' help. He had a harder time, though, accepting James' showiness and his overwhelming need to be right. They argued constantly, usually with them both being right in the end. It was a friendly banter based relationship.

They all sat in the open and sunny glass walled room, situated in metal framed swivel desk chairs. As James had done all of his life, he sat separated from the rest of the group. The others said nothing about it, but they wondered.

To all of them, James had been a looming presence, like a shadow on the street. He spoke with weighted words and only when he truly had something of importance to say. To all of them, he was a man with acerbic wit and a sour disposition when messed with, but overall, he was well liked. To all of them, his complexity was a mystery.

Megan Reeves, the team's profiler, had been put out when she couldn't get much from speaking to him. James was amused by that, if only because he had spent all his life hoping he came across as unreadable. To have it proved by a trained personality reader was sweet justice, to him.

"A man called Rufus Scrimgeour was captured sometime last night," Don said. James coughed up the coffee he had been drinking all over his hands and lap. Having inhaled a bit of it, he coughed for a few more moments. "You all right, James?" Don asked. James held up a hand and nodded.

"Rufus Scrimgeour?" he asked.

"Yeah, why? You know him?" Don inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Not directly. What do you know of him?"

Megan replied, "We've been told that the exact knowledge is above our collective security clearance. He does something with a foreign government. Do you have any insight?" James barked out a short laugh.

"Something for a foreign government," he said, chuckling. "True, very true. Understated, but true. I have clearance to tell you all his true intentions in your country, but I need you all to swear on your lives that this information goes no further." Amita Ramanujan and Larry Fleinhardt entered at his last words. Larry, a physicist, raised an eyebrow as he sat down.

"What are we swearing?" he asked. The situation was quickly explained to them and both of them looked slightly confused, but nodded anyway.

"Please, don't laugh. Rufus Scrimgeour is currently the head of Britain's Magical Law Enforcement agency." No laughter, but utter silence followed his words. "Okay, can you say something?"

"You… You're serious?" Amita asked. James nodded with a sigh. "Magical Law Enforcement?" James nearly laughed at the amount of sheer disbelief in her voice.

"MLE, yes, basically the equivalent of the American Muggle FBI. He is the head Auror, which is what we call Agent or Officer. He's in America trying to find allies for the war they are fighting over there," James explained with ease.

"What war?" Charlie asked.

"It's an insane story involving an extreme megalomaniac who wants to kill off all muggles in the world and rule the world as a dictator. Not a whole lot of mystery as to why it degenerated into war." Don wasn't looking so convinced.

"Then why did they put my guys on it?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. James paused for a moment before he answered.

"I believe that they think that Rufus was nabbed by muggles, then," James said.

"What is a muggle?'' David Sinclair, one of the Agents, asked.

"A person who does not have enough magic to use it under ordinary circumstances. All people have magic within them; muggles only access it under dire conditions. Danger is the most common catalyst, it's the reason why people can suddenly lift cars off of their children," James said.

"So who looks good to have done this?" Don asked. James pondered his question for a moment, before inspiration struck, and he opened his laptop and pulled up a few maps.

They watched him for five minutes before he turned the screen to face them. On it was a map of the LA area with six blinking red dots spread around almost in a circle. He said, "These are groups known to have committed hate crimes against people they suspect to have performed witchcraft. Two of the groups were right, and a one sixteen year old witch was killed."

"How could you tell if someone was a witch?" Megan asked. "Isn't that something they would keep secret? The risk of exposure?" James nodded.

"We try, but sometimes accidents happen. My grandfather's sister was exposed when she was six. Three muggle boys pretty much tortured her until she was too afraid to ever use magic again. It eventually led to her death. Usually the memory of the incident is erased form the muggle's mind, but sometimes it's impossible to do so. This leads me to believe that one of their number knows how to look for signs of magic," James said.

"What signs of magic?" Amita asked. "I've never noticed anything."

"You don't look, as most people don't. There have been times when I've summoned a pen without thinking about it, anyone who had seen it would have been suspicious. When magic users get angry or aggravated or scared, things shake, and glass could even break." James didn't miss that everyone looked around at the glass walls uneasily. He smirked and tilted his head to the right.

"I assure you, I have astounding self control. I promise I won't blow anything up… here," James said. "Should we get someone checking these groups out?" Colby Granger stood up to do so, as Amita, Charlie, and Larry were suddenly looking at him with much more interest than before.

"So, anymore you can tell us about magic?" Amita asked, leaning forward.

"I'm not sure what you are asking," replied James.

"Is it really like how fairy tales describe it?" she asked. James took a moment to think about it. He didn't know how to answer. For him, describing magic was like describing something as mundane as how to move a muscle. 'I dunno, you just do it.'

"I don't know, really."

"What can you do with magic?"

"The question is what you can't do with magic. I can change my appearance at will, conjure furniture, transfigure one object into another," James said with a shrug. Larry looked intrigued when he leaned forward.

"If you had this whole world, full of people like you and full of job opportunities, why would you choose to live and work in this world?" Larry asked thoughtfully. He had a way of doing that; getting straight to his question without fluff.

"Doctor Fleinhardt, I ask myself the same question everyday. On the days I have to be in New York at six, England at ten, Seattle at noon, Los Angeles at two, Santa Barbara at four, and Las Vegas at eight only to work until four the next morning, I ask myself the same damn question. The only answer I can come with is that I love what I do. I love math, and I love science, and those two things aren't in demand in the magical world. And the justice system; if you have enough money, you're innocent. That is not the type of justice I stand for," James stated.

"This is so amazing," Amita said in awe. "A whole world that I never knew about, a whole people we don't know anything about. How many magical people are there? Are they included in the government census?" James shook his head.

"There are approximately five hundred million magical people in the world that muggle governments do not know exist. Of course, some of us, like me, show up on both radars." His cell phone rang at the last few words. He checked who it was and simply opened and closed it, not wanting to talk to Andron at that moment. But the man called back four more times. Finally James picked it up. "Man, someone better be dead or dying for you to call me five times." Andron replied, and James stood up. "No, I don't think it'd be okay for you to kill Nicholas Flamel… Yes, I know the man is over six hundred years old and no one would miss him anyway… He called you a what? Give me an hour, or six."

"Nicholas Flamel?" Charlie asked after James put his phone in his pocket. "The alchemist?"

"The one and only. He's also the world's oldest bigot. Can you call me if anything happens? I have to go prevent a murder. Call me, please," James said, before he apparated out of his chair.

Larry jumped up, looking like the sun had just fallen from the sky.

"Hu-hu-how?"

James appeared at the Gates of Hogwarts, and then stormed to the Great Hall, where Andron had made his mayday call from. As he entered, he threw his nice jacket at a hastily conjured coat rack that nearly fell over by the attack of the Italian wool.

He wore black skater shoes and a biggish pair of black Dickies that still had a crease down the front of the legs. His tee shirt was yellow with a coiled cobra above the words, 'DONT TREAD ON ME!'. His sunglasses were in the classic FBI style.

Andron was being restrained by Dumbledore, most probably because he was trying to decapitate the oldest living man. As James walked up, he took off his sunglasses. Minerva was trying to get all of the students out of the hall, but she was failing.

"So, what happened?" James asked. He had attempted to remain calm, but it didn't work so well.

"This fucking French pansy ass motherfucker went and said something about America needing to die," Andron snapped, making another attempt to kill the old man.

"Oh, like he'll care. He was born in Britain!" Nicholas' French accent annoyed James for some reason.

"Prove it. I ask you to prove it. I am an American, born and raised so far as the government knows. Nothing said or done will change that. I will fight and die for my country. So say it again. Say it. I dare you; say it!" roared James, moving toe to toe with the old man. Flamel looked shocked.

"I have been around longer than your little country, and I say that I will outlast your little country. Americans are weak, fat, stupid, and lazy," Flamel said.

"Oh? And what are you?" James asked. "You're a little chunky yourself there, buddy. And what have you done in the last hundred years?"

"I'll have you know that I am the man that invented the Philosopher's Stone!" retorted Flamel. James, who stood three inches taller than the other man, laughed darkly.

"I don't give a fuck if you invented sunlight, old man. Weasley! Last time you were shopping, you find any Immortality Stones?" James barked, making Flamel flinch back a bit.

"No I did not," Ron replied. James nodded.

"So not only are you chunky, a little slow on the uptake, a bit lazy, and frail, you are arrogantly greedy! Not one of these students care you invented the Sorcerer's Stone, because it doesn't help them that you're alive. It's much less noble, considering you invented it for yourself! So take your unwarranted pride and shove it up your ass!"

Nicholas Flamel looked scandalized. James figured he had probably never been insulted in such ways before.

"How dare you-"

"How? Because I've done more for the world in seventeen years than you've done in six centuries! So go back to your monarchy, you fucking sheep!" James roared, turning around to leave. A cutting hex hit his back, tearing open the flesh and ripping the veins open. He growled and turned back to face the coward that had attacked his back.

"Your country was built on the backs of traitorous dogs! The blood of good men is forever a stain on your lands!" spat Flamel.

"Tell that to Doctor Guillotin!" James yelled furiously. He sighed and smiled. "Oh, what am I saying? You probably helped him! Hey! So long as it wasn't your head coming off! Coward," James said coldly. He healed his back with a wave of his hand, and once more set off to leave.

"America will burn!"

"Nicholas!" Albus barked. "Do you not know when to shut up? This boy is a lot stronger than he looks!" James cell phone rang, and he answered it.

"Drake? Why in the name of hell are you calling me? Yes, I know he was abducted, I'm working the case… Chh, of course I'm not in England… Wow, pit of hell is a strong word, but not out of context… Oh, wow, '_demons spawned from tyranny and oppression_' is a strong word as well. Have you been online again?"

"Oh dear god, he's not building another bomb, is he? Last time he did, he took out his entire basement," Andron said, stepping toward James, "while we were in it."

"Drake? Drake? Drake! Lost him," James said. He closed his phone, and started back on Nicholas. "And wasn't France allied with America during our revolution?"

"A horrible mistake. All those States have done is start conflict and war. What's that war you're a part of now?" Nicholas scoffed mockingly. "Just another war you have started. Weak, ignorant, aggressive fools. As for your Soldiers, well, they should all be-" James' fist cut off the old man.

"Oh fuck no. You did not just go there!" Andron yelled. Dumbledore simply walked away, holding his hands up as if to say, 'He's all yours.' James stared down at the fallen and shocked alchemist.

"Don't ever say something to that affect again, you ill-bred swine," James spat. "And if you do, I will hurt you. And when I say 'hurt' I mean Kill."

"That means he'll make medieval tortures look like a health spa," Andron added viciously.

"Arrogance. You are arrogant to think you could in any way be more powerful than I!" Flamel said, standing up. Andron kicked him back down, before kicking him twice more. Andron smirked and walked away, as did James.

"Oi, Arrogant One," Andron said, turning around, "you gunna be able to work on that Cure tuhnight?"

"Impossible to say, Andy," James said. "I'm getting calls all over the place. I have to get back to LA now, and then I have to make sure Drake didn't blow up his neighbourhood; and or convince the local law enforcement that he shouldn't be arrested."

"Isn't he the head of his local law enforcement?" Andron asked.

"That doesn't mean his subordinates like him. He's a jackass, you know that. They'd roll on him so fast he'd be appealing to the Supreme Court before he even noticed he'd been arrested. Hey, don't kill anyone without me," James said. He summoned his jacket off of the rack that disappeared, and answered his ringing cell phone. "Agent Potter," he said calmly. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

In the FBI headquarters of LA, James found himself hosting an impromptu interrogation. He wasn't the best interrogator, as he had never actually questioned a suspect in depth before. He wasn't a people person.

"So, Mister Hastings, do you believe in magic?" Yes, he was a very blunt man, indeed. The balding man looked at him with small beady eyes.

"I believe it exists. I do not believe in its use or any such thing. I believe all people who use magic should be put to death," the man bit out between clenched teeth. James nodded, leaning back in his chair.

"Why is that? Has anyone ever magically hurt you? Or is it against your religion?" James asked.

"I do not have a religion. The Leader says that religion is for fools. Fools, he says, because they are so busy looking to a higher power, they fail to see that the Earth's destruction will come from within! They sit in churches, while they should be fighting the disease spreading through the world; more epidemic that AIDS and the Plague combined; Magic!" the man huffed and crossed his arms. James inwardly felt like calling for the men in white coats; the ones that carried the pretty white jackets that tied in the back.

"I see. The 'Leader', does he have a name?" James asked.

"Jeramiah," answered Jonathan Hastings. "He is a wise man. He knows that magic will destroy society."

"That's very nice. Do you know of a man named Rufus Scrimgeour?" The man's jaw twitched slightly.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know him."

"Jonathan-"

"You can't make me talk! No! No! No! The Leader said don't talk! I won't tell you!" James hightailed it out of there before the man became aggressive. He found Megan looking perplexed just outside the door.

"Yeah, so, he's not going to tell me…"

"I'd noticed. Did his statements sound…"

"Cult like behaviour? Oh yeah. He's quacky." Megan glanced at him sharply.

"That's not generally how we refer to it," she said.

"You can't disagree."

"No, I can't."

The case started to get interesting after that. James stayed in LA for three days without sleeping as he worked on it. Don had once tried to have him forcibly removed from the premises, but Charlie had intervened on his behalf, talking his brother out of such hasty action.

So, James stayed. They pored over files, doing checks on anyone even remotely related to the cult that Hastings had revealed. Several leads had proven false, and only a few real good clues came to light.

Then, out of left field, Colby Granger found the biggest lead of the case; three perpetrators gloating in a bar. Colby, a muscled man, managed to take out one of the men before calling for backup, as the other two escaped.

Apparently, there were more than three in total. James had been tasked with driving Amita and Charlie back to Charlie's house, before the call came in. As he rounded a corner, he found himself smack dab in the middle of guerrilla warfare gone bad. Agents in SWAT gear ran in groups, trying to take out the cult that had rifles and some form of explosives on hand. James veered off quickly, taking the opposite direction.

"James!" Don's voice yelled over the walkie talkie he had. "They're heading in your direction! Keep Charlie safe!" the static of the connection silenced, leaving James to improvise.

"Got your seat belts on?" he asked. He didn't need an answer. He sped up, weaving around traffic like a drunken man. Amita, who sat in the middle, bodily grabbed Charlie, holding on for dear life.

Adrenaline pumping, James barely noticed when a bullet smashed into the mirror on his side. He did notice, however, when one went straight between his and Amita's heads, and out the windshield. "That was close. Good thing I never promised to keep you safe, Amita. Hold on!" James turned the steering wheel sharply, cutting across the double line and into an ally way. A chorus of aggravated car horns followed.

Telling the two college teachers to stay in the car, he jumped out and grabbed something out of the truck beds metal toolbox. Using an illusion charm to cover himself, James threw himself against the ally's side wall, levitating the truck up, perhaps fifteen feet in the air. He had made himself look like a homeless person, and he hoped his ploy worked.

A small white car pulled into the ally, eliciting the same chorus his own turn had. The car stopped in front of him, and the driver rolled down the window before leaning out to speak. "Have you seen a big black truck come through here?" James stood up while keeping his back crooked to make his 'I'm a feeble old man' ruse more believable.

"What d'you say? 'Fraid my hearing went with the atomic thingy they dropped during The War. Well? Speak up, sonny!" James said. The man let out an impatient sigh, but he spoke loudly and clearly.

"Have you seen a big black truck come by here, old man?"

"Well? How could I not? I'm hard of hearing, boy, not sight. That thing came tearing down here, tore my house right off me, too! Lousy kids with their roaring engines." James leaned forward, resting his hands on the open window area. "You see, lad, I remember a time before they had all this fancy nonsense; internet and compact discs. Honestly, children these days are- Hey!" he yelled as the car pulled away. James smirked and undid the illusion. When thy got twenty or so feet away, nearly out of the through ally, a passenger in the backseat looked back. His eyes widened and he turned around fully. James simply smiled and waved.

A flash of light and a cloud of smoke later, all five occupants of the small white car where knocked out with a potion form of a stunner spell. James lowered the car just enough so that he could climb into the drivers seat. "Good thing neither of you get motion sickness."

"Actually, I-" Charlie was cut off by the truck tilting one hundred and eighty degrees forward, and then one hundred and eighty degrees left. James lowered the car and moved front first out the same way he had entered. Charlie did look a bit green after that move. Oops.

James continued towards Charlie's house, but a few obstacles stood in his way. The remaining members of the cult were putting up a valiant fight, but the FBI was noticeably winning. As James drove by, two of his tires were shot out, and he let out a string of angry Greek words. He slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car, and got yet another rifle out of the toolbox. He briefly wondered what would happen to all of the ammunition in that thing if he were ever in a crash; because, seriously, it was like a military armoury on wheels.

"That glass is supposed to be bullet proof!" James yelled angrily, remembering how the bullet had easily pierced the back window. "Stupid sons of…" He climbed up on top the cab of the truck and took aim. He shot the guys that took out his tires. Three times. In the general chest area. "Bastard," James spat. He jumped down and quickly got back into the driver's seat, speeding off again.

"Why is my life like a really bad soap opera?" James asked no one in particular. "I wouldn't wish this shit on any person, even a Republican! It would take a severely messed up person to even think this kind of stuff up!"

"James," Amita said in an 'I'm trying to sound calm but it's impossible' voice. "James! We're being followed!"

"Evasive manoeuvres!" James yelled. He started weaving in and out of traffic.

"This isn't NASCAR, James!" Charlie yelled. "This is real life!"

"Think I could do it with my eyes closed?" James asked.

"NO!"

"Oh don't worry, we're protected by magic. That's why I've yet to hit anything..."

"I'm totally reassured."

The car that was following them started firing. "Either of you know how to shoot a gun? I can't shoot and drive at the same time… accurately, at least." James looked over and saw that both passengers were staring at him like he was crazy.

"Um, I'm a mathematician," Charlie said.

"And I'm a Geneticist!" James sighed. "Amita, hold the gas," he ordered. She took over controlling the gas, and James opened the door. Using his belt loop and a carabiner, he fastened himself to the car. "This isn't actually happening. Andron drugged my coffee this morning, that's it." He used his left foot to steer, only having the view of behind the car to judge where to go. He put his right foot on the sill of the window. "Who's shooting? Come on, show me your ugly face, you bastard."

* * *

James walked into the Great Hall on three cell phones, speaking three different languages, and wishing he had three bottles of whiskey. Talking to people who had no idea what they were talking about pissed him off. "It is an impossibility, and there is no way around an impossibility. You've tried every which way but Tuesday, but there is no way I can work for you. Hold on…"

He switched phones and started speaking in Hebrew. Going back to the other phone, he said, "Why? Because I work six jobs, man. And I'm writing a book. And I don't get paid enough as it is… No, last year I barely broke six digits, man. Okay, that's exaggerating I cleared a hundred and twenty, after taxes…" Andron started laughing raucously as he passed James going the other way.

"You poor deprived little man. And how much did you actually spend? Twelve, thirteen thousand?"

"Shut up, pansy," James snapped.

"Whut? It hella true."

"Fifty thousand," James said proudly. Andron snorted.

"What the hell you do with the other seventy?"

"Some of it went to the orphanage, some of it went to improving education in underprivileged cities, some of it went to funding certain government projects, and some of it went to savings," James said, making it to the door to his rooms.

"Ah, yes, the famous Potter Savings. What are you up to now, two, three hundred thousand dollars?" Andron asked. James flipped him off and kept walking. "Love you too!"

Days dragged by and still Rufus Scrimgeour was not found. James became obsessive; he stopped eating, stopped sleeping, he even used portkeys to get to and from LA, so that having to walk to the Gates wouldn't slow him down.

Finally, after six straight days, the Head Auror was found, though he was nearly dead. Technicalities, really; James didn't care about the man, so long as he was relatively alive, it was a job well done.

By the time he walked into the Great Hall, in the middle of the British night, James could barely move. Sheer determination of will kept him going, and nothing more. Bruises the size of dinner plates covered his body, deep purple blotches that restricted movement. The only thing that made him feel better was the sweet justice of knowing one thing; Andron had it worse!

Dumbledore greeted him in the dining hall with a rather angry look. "Hello," James said, trying to walk passed him. Dumbledore put out an arm to stop him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"To bed. Where I plan to sleep. For at least three days." Albus shook his head.

"No. You're going to the Hospital Wing," the older man stated. He took James' arm and nearly dragged him out of the Great Hall.

James looked at the back of the door that would have led him to his bed, and he felt extremely sad. "So close," he muttered. "I was right there…"

James completely fell asleep on the third floor, falling into his grandfather's arm.

Albus nearly came out of his skin when James fell on him, but he laughed when he looked down and saw the younger man was asleep. He picked the boy up and carried him to the infirmary, knowing that Madam Pomfrey was up and waiting. He set James on a bed and Madam Pomfrey swooped down like a bird of prey.

"This boy is exhausted! Mentally, physically, magically; what did this boy do? Albus, does this kind of stupidity run in your blood?" Albus opened his mouth to protest, but she gave him a sharp look. "Two years ago, I had to physically drag you from your office, and damn near had to tie you to your bed-"

"Madam Pomfrey, I am a married man; this isn't sounding so good for said marriage." Poppy Pomfrey laughed quietly.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I am a happily married woman; and you are not my type."

James started waking up, but Poppy remedied that with a strong sleeping potion. "Well?" Albus asked.

"He has several stress fractures in his legs and feet." She felt the bones around his shoulders and sighed. "He has a broken collarbone, and a nasty bruise on his neck. Take off his shirt," the matron ordered, turning to get a potion vial. "And be careful about it, because-"

"Oh god!"

"He might have more bruises," she finished, turning around.

Albus couldn't believe what he was seeing. Horrendously bruised would be an understatement; bruises larger than Albus' whole hand covered James' upper body in frightening hues of purple and black. It was a horrifying sight to Albus, who almost had to turn away.

Madam Pomfrey then manually realigned the collarbone. Even unconscious, James let out a scream and tried to get away from her. Albus had to hold him down. "Oops… It was partially healed."

"Poppy!"

"Sorry!"

Healing the bruises went next. It took a long time to heal all of them. When Poppy finished, she sighed and sat on the bed next to James' own. "Is it illegal to forcibly Heal someone?" she asked, lightly.

"Possibly. We did hold him here against his will, and drug him. That sounds like kidnapping to me. When will he wake?" Albus asked.

"By now? He'll wake if you shake him." She stood and walked to her office. Albus shook James, who wasn't very happy about being woken up.

"Go away!"

"Wake up, James," Albus said softly. James rolled over. "Wake up, James."

"Nooooo. Sleep now. Talk later. Haven't had coffee."

"I promise to get you coffee," Albus bribed. James opened one eye and looked at him.

"Promise?"

"I promise, James."

James jumped out of the bed and grabbed Albus' arm, leading him out of the room. When they were down in the kitchen, after James had had four cups of steaming black coffee, Albus asked him about Rufus Scrimgeour.

"Oh. Him. Yes. Found him. He's in LA, at a hospital. He'll be fine, bright and shiny, back in England tomorrow. Anything else, old man?" James asked. He was starting on his sixth cup of coffee, and his grandfather was staring at the cup. "What?"

"Do you have an addiction?"

"Yeh think? I've been drinking coffee since I was five. It is truly a drink more divine than vodka."

"Can you do anything without becoming addicted to it?" the older man asked.

"Yes! I'm not addicted to… um…no. I guess not."

"Alcohol, work, coffee, pills, cigarettes, sarcasm, threatening people, not sleeping…" Albus said. James glared at him. "Oh? Am I wrong?"

"No…"

"James, why don't you try to lose these addictions?"

"Because life wouldn't be fun if I did that! I like to keep things interesting," James said. His watch started beeping, and he looked down to check the time. "I have to go." He looked back at the other man with a glare. "Oh, and we'll talk about this little kidnapping thing, Dumbledore," he said as he walked out the door.

Time passed slowly, until Christmas arrived. James was sitting at the Staff Table half asleep. He had spent the entire night looking over his notes on lycanthropy. He knew he was close, so close that he wanted to scream.

Andron was annoyed by his steadfast belief that there was no such thing as a "magical" cure. James was sure that the problem with werewolves had to do with a mutation in the cells. It was his theory that the cells controlling the transformation began growing uncontrollably-

"James!" Albus said loudly. James jumped out of his chair, bringing his hand to his gun. He looked around for the threat, but found none. "Oh sit down. James," Albus said, "I need someone to teach the morning Defence class. Can you cover it?" James sat straight up, glancing at Andron. After a split second, he grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the button on the side, making it ring.

"Will yeh look at that, I have to go!" James said, sliding under the table and nearly running out of the hall.

"Dumbledore," Andron said after his friend left, "James is a horrible teacher. He hates it. He's impatient, and he can't stand having to explain things; he thinks people should just know them."

James really did leave, though. He was on his way to his private lab when his cell phone started ringing. He answered it when he saw the number. It had been a long time since he'd gotten a call from New York's sixteenth precinct. "James Potter," he said.

"James," the voice of Detective Olivia Benson said with a forced calm. "We need your help with one over here. We need a young undercover, and you're the best for the job. Can you get here?" she asked.

"Of course I can. What's the case?" he asked, walking right back out of his apartment before he was two steps in.

"Seventeen year old girl in New York on a Junior class field trip. She was abducted by a serial rapist two days ago. We don't know where she's being held."

"I'll catch a flight."

Soon after he closed his phone, he answered it again when Catherine called. "Potter."

"James, Lindsey is missing!" Catherine's voice was frantic.

"Oh. Dear. God. Where is she?"

"New York."

James let out a growl.

"I'm on my way there already, Catherine. Where are you?" James asked quietly. He couldn't apparate and talk on a cell phone at the same time, so he simply walked down the street.

"Where do you think I am!? I'm at the airport, trying to get a plane! They're already overbooked!"

"Don't worry, Catherine. I'll be there in a second, and they will give you a seat."

James wistfully wished that people would simply stay where they were supposed to be, and not get kidnapped so damn often.

* * *

Now I'm going to go watch Top Gear. Again.

* * *


	17. Mule?

**Prodigy**  
Chapter 17  
_White People Drink Some Crazy S#it  
_ChipmonkOnSpeed

James got to the airport half a minute later, and exited the bathroom he had appeared in. Catherine was easy to find; she was the loudest person in the surrounding _county_. James walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. When she stopped yelling, the poor woman at the counter looked relieved.

"Sir, do _you_ understand what she's trying to tell me?"

"I do indeed." He took out one of his badges. "Ma'am, I'm with the United States Special Forces. When is the next flight to New York City?" he asked.

"Ten minutes, sir, but seats are already double-booked. I can't let anybody on that plane," the twenty-something girl exclaimed. James nodded.

"No worries; I'll get on myself." He led Catherine away, toward the gate that he needed. "Compose yourself, Catherine. You must look calm if this is to work."

James thanked the skies that he had dressed in not so baggy pants, and a nice shirt and jacket. His was multi-packing guns, one his hip, and then two holstered near his ribs. The one on his hip was shamelessly visible, and people stared as they skirted him.

Stopped at the first security check, two security men stopped him. He flashed his badge once more. "I need to get to New York. Now." They had the gall to sneer at him.

"Why?"

"I have been assigned to a case by my department in New York. It is a case involving a missing seventeen year old girl. This is her mother. We need to get to New York." The man looked him up and down.

"How many weapons do you have one you?" the bigger security guard asked.

"Six. She is with the LVPD, she has a standard issue. Can we get through now?"

"She's with the Police?" the man asked sceptically. James resisted the urge to have a very childish outburst in that moment.

"Crime Lab," James replied shortly.

"Oh! You're that hot chick that was son TV the other night!" the shorter one said, speaking for the first time.

"You saved that little boy," the taller one said in dawning realization. His eyes narrowed. "New York? Gate six."

The man let them bypass security, making James's job a lot easier. He had a harder time at the gate. "I need to be on this plane," he said for the seventh time. The man standing there shook his head, looking impatient.

"I can't let you on the plane!"

Knowing he was approaching treacherous waters, knowing that an airport was not a good place to make threats, James held his tongue. "I am a Federal Agent; and employee of the United States Government. I would pull rank on you, but as a junior college drop out, _you _have_ no rank_!" James bellowed. "Let me on that plane before I arrest you for obstructing justice, and conspiracy to kidnap a minor with the intention of rape!" he snapped.

The man moved faster than a Mexican running the border. James and Catherine found themselves in first class halfway to New York quicker than they thought possible.

"So, those threats you made," Catherine said calmly, "could you follow through?"

"I don't know. . ." he said with a grin. "I'll have to ask someone."

"Thank you, James, for helping me back there. I- I'm not thinking clearly."

"No one expects you to be, Catherine. I will not claim to understand how you feel right now. My habit of apathy is notorious, and as such I block most emotions. I can, however, _sense_ the fear in you. No mother should ever have to save her daughter like this."

They landed in New York at half past nine local time that night. James managed to calm Catherine down enough to manage the entire taxi ride without a single outburst. The one _before_ the taxi didn't really count.

Getting to the sixteenth precinct was easy enough, getting in was easier. None of the detectives were in the office when he got there, thus James just sat at a desk and put his feet up. Catherine paced back and forth, up and down, this way and that.

Twenty minutes later, Detectives Benson and Stabler walked in, looking ragged and weary. "James!" Olivia Benson said, sounding relieved. "You made it!"

"Of course I made it. I am amazing," James said without hesitation. "That's just how I do. Now, how is the case going?" he asked. Elliot Stabler sighed as he sat down in his office chair.

"We have not been able to find our suspect or the victim. That's where you come in, James. Tonight, you'll be brought to the spot where we believe the victim was captured, and we'll see if we can't get you taken as well."

"You can't use him as bait," Catherine said in confusion.

"Detectives, this is Catherine Willows, Lindsey's mother. Catherine, bait implies having no defence against the person being baited. I, however, am more than sufficiently trained to protect myself and others, especially in close quarters combat." Catherine shook her head.

"Why is it that no matter how often I think I've got you figured out, you surprise me with yet another odd talent? How safe would he be?" Catherine asked the two Detectives.

"There is little chance of him being killed. Other than that?" Benson trailed off.

"Come now, I am indestructible. I alone would survive nuclear war, right along with the cockroaches. What's the plan?" he asked.

The plan was laid out in detail, but even after twenty minutes, Catherine was not convinced James was safe. Elliot took her into the interrogation room to talk to her. When he closed the door, he made sure that James was in deep conversation with Olivia.

He motioned Catherine to a chair and sat across from her. He took a breath before speaking.

"Mrs. Willows, do you know what a Hail Mary shot is?" he asked carefully. She gave him a look like that was the last thing she cared to be thinking of. "In sports, when the odds are against you and time is running out, you do whatever you can in the last seconds; throwing a basketball from the half court line with a second left to go, for instance. There's not a chance of making the shot, but you have to make the _effort_. James is our Hail Mary shot, Mrs. Willows. He hasn't failed us yet."

She was silent for a moment before she nodded. "You're telling me that there is little chance of finding my daughter," she said.

Elliot gave a small, sad smile and said, "I have no doubt that she will be found."

"I'm hoping for her to be breathing, Detective," Catherine said quietly.

"So am I."

When everyone was back together, Catherine noticed that two more men were there. "Catherine, this is Detective Odafin Tutuola," James said, pointing to a rather gruff looking dark skinned man with odd hair, which was both pulled back into a ponytail and shaved on the sides. "And this is Sergeant John Munch." Catherine looked to the lanky man standing across the room with grey hair and a suspicious look.

"We were just going over our plan with James," Olivia said calmly. "Are you ready, James?"

"Of course," James replied with an ease that almost annoyed Catherine. Another man entered the area, looking both worried and professional. "Catherine, this is George Huang, psychiatrist extraordinaire."

"I have a limited biography of our suspect's predatory history. We have a few problems," he said, getting straight to the point.

"Such as?" John Munch asked.

"Our suspect has a 'type', specific for both genders. Because, oddly enough, this predator-"

"Goes both ways?"

"Exactly. When seeking boys, he looks for very specific behavioural cues. He looks for young, fit boys, who are alone and, well, inebriated."

"How so?" Olivia asked with worry.

"Twenty years ago, he kidnapped a teen that died within hours of alcohol poisoning."

"That's a lot of alcohol," James said with vicious glee.

"So… what do we do?" Elliot asked.

"We can't get a minor drunk," Olivia stated.

"But, we can't control what he does _outside_ of this building."

Nobody missed the evilly happy look in James' eyes. Elliot handed James twenty dollars and told him to leave.

The first thing James did after leaving the building was to call Andron. "Hey, Mayday," James said a little loud, to compensate for the sound of angry traffic on the street beside him.

James strolled into the Great Hall of Hogwarts, ignoring the remaining twenty students finishing their lunches. Drake slowly walked behind him, not trusting the building itself, let alone the people within it.

"Why am I here, again?" Drake asked. James barely turned to answer him.

"Because in five minutes I'm going to be too drunk to safely apparate, and you'll have to get me back to New York. Good god, I love my job," James said with a smirk. "But Elliot is crazy if he thinks twenty dollars is even going to make my a little tipsy."

"Yeah, probably not, buddy. It'll take a lot more than that…"

Harry disappeared through the door to his quarters, leaving Drake standing in the middle of the Hall. His cell phone rang, and he answered it snappishly.

"Chief Herr," he said. As always, the phone was too loud, and he ended up holding it away from his ear.

"Chief, we've got a situation here. A shield was arrested for being drunk in public…"

"So? Was he on duty, you fuckhead?" Drake asked.

"Well, yes, sir, he was."

"Then haul his ass to the fucking slammer, you stupid r_oo_kie!" Drake closed the phone with an angry snap. "Why are people stupid?"

"Because they are not me," James said as he burst back into the room. He held two bottles in one hand, and a cigarette in the other.

"You're chasing whiskey with vodka?" Andron sceptically inquired.

"Of course," James said. He put the cigarette to his mouth and took a long draw.

"I thought you quit smoking!" Andron indignantly yelped. "What the hell?"

"I quit smoking for all of two days, my friend. I'll probably be dead of heart failure before I'm forty. Why not add some tar to my lungs to make things interesting? I'm mean, what's it going to be? Heart attack? Emphysema? Lung cancer? Or will I be hit by a bus?" James asked, taking a swig of whiskey. "I should take bets."

"I say someone will murder you before any of that can happen. Possibly your friend," Drake said as he pointed to the seething Andron.

"Very possible," growled Andron. James shrugged with a nonchalant look.

"And we're off!" James said with in a monotone.

"Only you could make such an exclamation sound boring as hell," Andron muttered. "And I thought we were playing poker tonight?"

"Have to work. Have to save a girl from a paedophile."

"Oh, come on! Let someone else save the world one chick at a time! Bro's before hoes!"

"Unless there's a chance to get paid," replied James. Andron growled.

"Laid! As in fuck like a cat in heat!"

"No, I except cash only, my friend," James said.

James walked into the sex crimes office and announced himself loudly. "Yooo-hooo!" he yelled. Within hours, James was standing on the street, on a cell phone. He shouted continuously every other minute.

Just as everyone had hoped, James was nabbed a little after midnight. He put up little struggle, and was knocked out with chloroform; the world went dark within seconds.

Hours later, James couldn't tell how long it had been, he woke to the sound of a girl screaming. Groggily, he wondered how the hell a screaming girl had gotten into his apartment. It took a full half minute until James realized that he wasn't in his apartment. He was in New York; he was supposed to save Lindsey!

James opened his eyes and glanced around. Lindsey was in his sight, but the perp wasn't. The young girl was crying, and James could barely move to help her. It took several attempts, but James was eventually able to half army-crawl to the young woman.

"Hey," he said. She looked at him through red-rimmed eyes, a bit shocked.

"Oh my god," she said, "I know you! You work with my Mom! What. . ."

"I'm here to get you," James said. "You're Mother called me; she's panicking pretty badly. How are you doing?" he asked. She refused to meet his eyes.

"Better than I would have thought," she said dryly.

James nodded. "I'll get us out of here," he said, "wherever the hell _here_ is."

"I've seen his face," Lindsey announced a few minutes after James had first spoken. "I've heard my Mom say something about that, before. I've seen his face… what does that mean?" she asked.

James sighed calmly as he wondered how to explain. "I don't want to scare you," James said, "but I don't want you to wonder and think up things that could be worse. When a perp shows his face, it means he usually isn't worried about getting caught-"

"What? So, he doesn't care?" she asked.

James shook his head. "No… it means the victim usually won't live long enough to talk to a sketch artist. But you don't have to worry, Lindsey. I'll get you out of here," promised James.

"How can you be sure?" Lindsey forlornly asked.

James chuckled. "Because your Mother scares the hell out of me; if anything happens to you, I plan on throwing myself off the nearest building to avoid her. Trust me, I am getting you out of this damn building."

The room was dark, but not overly so. James could smell the copper twinge of fresh blood in the air. As he looked down, James realized his chest was slowly oozing blood. "Damn it," he muttered as he tried to get his hands free of the duct tape that bound his wrists.

It was twenty minutes to get his hands free, and another five to free Lindsey. Magically undoing the bonds would be highly suspect, and Lindsey was on edge as it was.

Just as he was helping Lindsey up, the only door of the room creaked open. James froze and looked up. The man that walked in looked about as nondescript as possible. "Damn, I wouldn't notice you in a crowd if you was the only person in the crowd!" James exclaimed without much thought.

"That is to my advantage," the man said in a low growl. "Escaping won't do you any good; this place is rigged with explosives. I'm an old hand when it comes to kidnapping, kid."

James raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do this often?" James asked. "Like a weekend hobby?"

"Shut up," the man snapped. "This isn't a hobby, it's a profession."

"Haha, my profession is better," taunted James. Lindsey discreetly grabbed his arm.

"Oh? What; do you flip burgers?" the kidnapper asked with a cold laugh.

James threw his hands over his head and grabbed the gun that had been taped there, levelling it at the man's chest. "Oh, you know. I work for the government. Hands on your head!" James demanded. With a wild look, the man ran out the door. James fired a single shot after him.

He turned to Lindsey, who looked terrified. "What if the building explodes?" she asked, looking about the room.

"Then we don't want to be in here when _that_ happens," James said. He gently took her hand and led her out of the room, holding the gun level with the other hand. When they had moved a few feet down a hall, James let out a whistle. "Well, we're in a brownstone, that's for sure. All of the windows seemed to be barred, and none of the lights are working. Someone doesn't pay there electric bill. . ."

James noticed something that made his blood run cold and his stomach clench. "What?" Lindsey asked when she noticed his pause.

"Motion sensors. This guy is high-tech. I don't know what triggering it will do, but I think I've already done it," James muttered. "Which means we should haul ass out of here before-"

A small explosion erupted in the room of the door they stood in front of. The door blew off the hinges, slamming James and Lindsey into the wall of the hallway. Lindsey was knocked unconscious, but James avoided hitting his head too hard. After he regained his footing, James struggled to lift Lindsey up and move down the hall.

He could hear sirens in the distance, just before another explosion nearly knocked James off his feet. He found that they were on the fifth floor, and he tried to get down as fast as he could. With brownstones, the stairs led to the second floor instead of the first floor, so he only had to get down a few more floors. The stairs were blocked, the windows barred.

Sirens turned off in front of the house, and James sighed. He was thinking quickly, without much time before the explosions severely damaged the foundation. James turned around, still holding Lindsey in a fireman's carry, and made his way to the roof. What the hell he was going to do when he got to the roof, he didn't know.

Andron was sitting contentedly in the Hogwarts library, procrastinating. His excuse for taking six months leave from the university was that he was going to write a book. He had gotten six months leave… and in four months, he hadn't written a page. Oops.

His laptop was working slower than he had expected, and it annoyed him. When he finally got to his email, after several pop ups that shouldn't have been there, he saw something that caught his eye. He had an email, an urgent one, from an old friend. It turned out to be a link to a video website.

Andron opened the link, and nearly jumped when he saw what the video was. It was a live feed from New York. Andron was watching his stupid/rash/careless/insane friend stand on top of a brownstone, and then he. . .

jumped off. James wondered what had been going through his mind when he took a running start to jump off the side of the building. It could have been that the building was on fire, but it was probably his lack of ability to decide whether something was dangerous or not.

He landed in the middle of the street, his face slamming into the door of a bright red fire truck. He made sure Lindsey was well taken care of, handing her off to only paramedics that he knew and trusted. Looking back on the day, he would wish that he had never taken a step back; that he had never closed his eyes.

A speeding car slammed into him, sending him forty feet down the street. The world went black for only a moment, before he brought up mental shields and blocked the pain. He did some quick healing spells under the cover of the tree he had landed next to.

He repaired the broken legs and fractured ribs. When he was up to it, within moments, he ran into the street. He saw the car he was looking for and ran to it. As both the Chief and an old man, Drake didn't much get into chases and perp tracking.

Drake's Mustang-turned-squad car was at the end of the fire truck brigade, near the other police cars. Drake stood at the passenger's side door, yelling on a cell phone. James waved of the paramedics who had chased him down. He jumped into the drivers seat, and pulled Drake into the car.

"Click it or ticket," yelled James. Drake hurried to put his seatbelt on before James hit the gas, but he failed. James got the car up to ninety before Drake got the required safety precaution on.

"Damn it, damn it to hell. Stupid laws. I was around before they invented these fucking seatbelts. Like I-" Drake let out a deep scream, and grabbed the bar above his window.

"Were you around the '_oh shit_' bar, as well?" James asked, not taking his eyes off the car a hundred feet in front of him.

"Sadly, yes."

James watched the brake lights, specifically. The man, who not only hit him with a car but kidnapped both him and Lindsey, turned three streets down. James slashed the steering wheel in the opposite direction, doing a donut to face the street that had been to his left. Drake let out a long yell, breathing deeply when the car slowly moved down the cross street. James turned off the lights, to hide in the darkness.

When the perp's car passed, James was zero to eighty in fewer than ten seconds. "This is not how I taught you to dr_iiiiii_ve!" screamed Drake.

James slammed into the back of the offending car. The seatbelt tightened and James neck snapped forward. He grabbed the shotgun out of the "back seat" and opened the car door.

"Police! Open the door!" James yelled. Drake sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"I should warn you, James, that the gun you have is…"

"…Illegal!" Andron found himself yelling. He was walking through the Great Hall, eyes glued to his laptop. He chose to ignore the emergency Order meeting, however. "Christ Almighty, that bitch could take an elephants head off! Oh, lord forbid you do anything with constraint, James. _Nooo_, the Mighty James Potter is in-fucking-vincible!" Andron snapped sarcastically. Andron jumped when he saw James pull the trigger. "Oh. My. Fucking. God. That's murder one, James! Blastin niggas heads off, 'n shit. What the fuck?"

"Mister Schwartz?" the Headmaster asked, rather sternly.

"_Hold yer balls_, my boys just done an ruined his life. Oh, bitch please, you gunna give a motherfucker a heart attack; I can't feel my fingers no mo. Missing on purpose, you cocksucker…"

"Please leave the hall," McGonagall snapped. Andron was too busy watching the video to notice. He gasped loudly and dropped the laptop, pointing at it stupidly.

"That's my girlfriend!" he screamed. Later, he would deny that he had ever screamed like a little girl, but it was a lie. "James! You son of a cocksucking whore! You're supposed to tell me when it's my girlfriend you're rescuing! Bastard! Don't fire…"

again. James smirked as the man jumped, trying to get his seatbelt off. He had fired twice; both times he had missed by two feet. The glass of the driver's seat was shattered, as was the windshield. When the man tried to escape out of the windshield, Drake jumped on the hood, pointing a gun at the man's face. The man got the point. Sort of.

As James pulled him from the car, there was resistance. Drake cuffed him, and read him his rights. "Conrad Evans, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of a minor, resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer, the kidnapping of a Federal Agent, the hit and run of a Federal Agent, reckless driving, child endangerment, conspiracy to commit rape, attempted murder of a Federal Agent, conspiracy to commit murder, and _denting my Mustang_." If anything, Drake sounded most pissed about the last thing. James rolled his eyes.

"Drake, if you don't mind, I'm going to go check on Lindsey. . ." he walked toward the original crime scene, and could hear Catherine's voice a block away. When he got to the distraught woman, he put a hand on her shoulder. She was arguing with a middle aged paramedic, who looked to know a thing or two about arguing with distressed relatives.

"Look, ma'am, I can't let you ride along. You can ride with James' ambulance, because god knows he needs one."

"Why can't I ride with my daughter?" she snapped. James felt her shoulder tense; her arm twitched in a way that meant she was stopping herself from punching the EMT.

"She has burns from the explosion. You might get in the way." James was violently shaking his head, trying to warn Frankie G, a paramedic he knew well. He raised an eyebrow with a confused look.

"Frankie, let her ride with you. She's a smart one, I promise. Let her go," James said. Frankie gave him a long look.

"Fine. Let's go, ma'am, we have to go."

James watched the ambulance leave with flashing sirens. James turned and saw a group of paramedics, firemen, and police staring at him with their arms crossed. Big, bulky men staring at him like he was prey.

"Uh. . ."

Within moments, he was picked up and hauled to an ambulance. "Oi! I have the right to deny medical attention! You infringing upon my civil rights! Put! Me! Down!"

Andron laughed hysterically as a group of firemen carried James to the bus. "Owned!" Andron yelled. He laughed once more, wiping tears from his eyes. He dearly wished he could hear what was being said. "Ah, he'll be out in an hour. . ."

James walked through the doors of Hogwarts with a slight limp and a cell phone to his ear. "I was hurt on the job, Drake. There is no reason I shouldn't get workers compensation," James said rationally. He walked through the hall, ignoring the Order meeting. "Oh, come on, Drake. Off the books, under the table, commissioned; I don't give a fuck. I was hit by a car working for the city of New York!"

"It's New York, what do you expect?" Andron sarcastically asked. "All their money is in the damn Yanks. Fuck the NYC."

"What is your problem?" James asked, lifting his cell phone a bit to look at his friend passed his arm.

"West coast, baby."

"Oh please. If you had grown up in Atlanta, you'd be screaming East Coast." James returned to his phone conversation.

"Fuck the ATL!"

James sat at breakfast three days after his outing in New York. "You know, James, I hate you. If anyone else had been hit by that car, they would be dead like disco."

"What do you mean disco is dead?" snapped Jim Potter. Andron looked scandalized.

"Disco died with the seventies, old man. The only people left who still disco are mentally unstable."

"In your opinion, Mayday."

"No, in truth. Any bitch who still discos needs serious help."

"There is nothing wrong with disco," Jim denied. Andron looked to be preparing a long rant. Harry was about to say something, but an owl landed in front of him, bearing an official looking letter. He took it and read it, once, twice, three times.

"Ain't nobody disco no more. Disco died with the seventies. As it should have!"

James slapped his friend's arm, not looking away from the paper.

"Andy, we have bigger problems."

"What? What? I didn't do it."

"The government is strongly requesting that I pick one career and stick with it," James said calmly. It wasn't his usual calm voice; it was _oddly_ detached.

"What?" Andron asked.

"I've been asked to work full time with NCIS," James said. He was breathing deeply and warding off the ensuing panic attack.

"Navy crimes? How fuckin lame. That's all investigation and paperwork- Do they know you at all? Let me summarize. James Potter goes from place to place, only catching the action and missing the red tape. I mean, you hate limitations."

"I know, D-Day, I know. Naval Criminal Investigation Services. I can't even do that. Andron, you want a drink? I'll buy."

James stood up and began walking to Hogsmeade. "Hell no. You white people don't drink like we do. Last time I et you buy me a drink, I woke up in Mexico three days later, arrested for trying to sodomise a mule. I don't know what the fuck you drink, but I ain't having none of that. Mm-mm, no."

James rolled his eyes and walked away.

* * *

Whoo, let's take a vote; I say that was one of my worse chapters. How bout you? About Andron's abrupt change in vocabulary... well, I can't tell you.

Can anyone guess who one of my favorite comedians is?

I posted because I had a dead arm for three weeks, because my beta wouldn't stop punching my.

**Next chapter:** James meets up with the NCIS team... and maybe some House. . .


	18. Healing

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo was not having a good day. His boss, Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, was glaring at him from across the bullpen. Tony decided that perhaps he should stop flicking bits of paper at Ziva David. He pretended to work intently after that. He didn't think anything of the elevator opening on that floor, but he looked up when Tim McGee dropped something.

"Geez, Probie, what was-" He cut himself off when he felt a rush of air as someone walked passed him. "Who was that?" The subsequent smell of cigarette smoke made him cough in surprise. "You can't smoke in a Federal Building."

"Listen, I don't care if you're the head of the FBI, CIA, or the Emperor of the Galactic Republic. You don't have the power to tell me where to work," a deep voice growled. It sounded like it was coming from the stairs that were behind Tony's desk, so he looked up, but he only caught the back of an expensive looking jacket.

"That was like an earthquake," Ziva said.

"A hurricane?" McGee asked.

"Whatever."

"I think," Gibbs said, "that was what I was supposed to remember. The Director told me that we were going to get a new pair of hands on the team; at least for a while."

"Boss, that was James Potter," McGee said, as he picked up the book he had dropped. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him.

"That supposed to mean something to me, McGee?" he asked.

"James Potter works with the LAPD, SBPD, NYPD, LVPD, SFPD… he performed _brain_ surgery in a parking lot in Seattle! He's legendary!" McGee said, his tone suspiciously close to awe.

"He's an alcoholic," Ziva said, scrolling down a page on her computer, "he's addicted to pain medication, and he's an adrenaline junkie. He's exactly the kind of person you don't want on your team. A liability."

"He's seventeen," McGee snapped. "Most boys are impulsive at seventeen."

"Whoa, how could he have done all that at seventeen?" Tony asked.

"Genius IQ," the same deep voice from earlier said. Tony jumped and turned around. Casually leaning against the stair railing with a cell phone in one hand a cigarette in the other, James Potter smirked at him.

"How did you. . . How long have you. . .?" Tony spluttered. The younger man gave him a Gibbs-like stare. The boy travelled the rest of the way down the stairs, and walked around until he was standing between Tony's and Ziva's desks.

"Special Agent Jethro Gibbs," Gibbs said, standing up to move around his desk. He held out his hand, and James shook it.

"Aye. James Potter; I'd give you my titles, but you probably have other things to do today," James said.

Gibss told Tony to lead James on a tour of the NCIS building, and introduce him to people. In the elevator, Tony snuck glances at the young man. "Do you wish to ask me something?" James asked.

"Uh, yeah. If you're still a teenager, why are you here? I mean, wouldn't your time be better spent… dating or socializing?" Tony asked. There was a moment of silence before the boy replied.

"Last week, I saved a seventeen year old girl from a serial rapist. A month ago, I saved a foreign dignitary from a cult of witch-hunters. Had I been 'dating', that girl would have been raped and murdered, and the man would have been tortured and burned at the stake. Tell me, now, is socializing a better use of my time?" James asked.

Tony didn't have a reply for that, so he stayed silent. The elevator stopped, and they walked into the morgue. "Ducky!" Tony called. A glass door had opened automatically when they walked up, and an older gentleman glared at Tony.

"A little respect for the deceased, Anthony?" he asked. Tony grinned ruefully.

"Sorry, Ducky. Hey, this here is-"

"James Potter," 'Ducky' finished. "It _is_ an honor to meet you. I am Doctor Donald Mallard, known by most as Ducky. What brings you to NCIS?"

"Ignorant bureaucrats. I was perfectly happy working nine jobs, but the government doesn't agree," James said.

"Well, I hope you grow to like it here," Ducky said. James tilted his head.

"Are you from Scotland?" he asked. Ducky looked a bit surprised.

"Yes, I am. How did you know?"

James gave a very small smile. "My family is from the area. My Grandfather is the Headmaster of a small public school in the Scottish mountains. I visit occasionally."

"What part of Scotland?" Tony was getting impatient, and he knew Ducky could talk for hours.

James smiled ruefully. "I'm not quite sure, to be honest. The only way to get there is by train, and I usually fall asleep."

Tony's head snapped up in attention; his detective instincts went into overdrive. "How do you not know? Didn't you ever look up directions? Why were you-"

"The school charters a train every year. I've never asked any questions, but I've worked on research up there. It's a quiet castle, in the summer months."

Ducky looked James over, and Tony weighed the truth he saw in James' eyes. Ducky gave a short nod. "Now, I've heard about you, quite a bit really. A Ph.D. at thirteen? Quite impressive. I recall a young man I once knew-"

Tony jumped in between Ducky and James. "We have to go. Sorry, Ducky. Lots to see, you know," Tony said, leading James away. They entered the elevator once more. "He'll talk for ever. Now, we're going to go meet Abby. Now, Abby is a little strange when it comes to forensic scientists, but you might like her."

James was a bit worried as to what that could mean. He honestly didn't _not_ like the people at NCIS… he just didn't like _only_ the people at NCIS. Variety was more his thing.

The elevator doors opened with a small chime, and loud music assaulted their ears. James was half tempted to use a protective sound proofing charm around his head. He took a moment to adjust himself before he took in the sight before him.

A young woman with dark black hair done in pony-tails, and she wore dark red lipstick. A cobweb tattoo was just peaking out of her pristine white lab coat. Tony leaned over to whisper to him. "She's got a few tats, but she's harmless, really."

The woman snapped around as James looked at Tony. James gave a small smirk and said, "No scientist can be considered harmless. We all have the ability to kill without leaving a trace."

The woman nodded sharply. "That's right, Tony. I'm Abby, by the way. Who are you- Oh, _you're_ James Potter," she said. Her personality was rather bubbly, which made James smile slightly.

Tony threw his hands up. "How does everybody but me know this?" he asked.

"Because," Abby slowly started, "James has never been in a movie?" she suggested. Tony huffed. "So, James, why are you here?"

"To get the government off my back. Nice lab," James said as he looked around. Tony's phone rang loudly and he answered it.

"Yeah boss," he said as he took a few steps toward the opposite wall. Abby went off, explaining the different lab equipment. James smirked as she continued, until she suddenly stopped and turned mid-word.

"You know all this, don't you," she stated. James nodded with a smile. "Well, why didn't you stop me?"

"Your enthusiasm is refreshing. I most often see lab technicians cursing and kicking equipment," James said. "I think your technique is much more effective."

"How so?" She picked up an absurdly large drink container that had some ridiculous name, and slurped at it.

"Well, when a plant doesn't grow, kicking it doesn't help. You have to be gentle and care for it. Same with electronics," James said. She gave him a strange look, before Tony interrupted anything she may have said.

"We've got a scene. James, you're supposed to stay here with Abby. Abby, you're supposed to 'make sure the little boy doesn't break anything'," Tony said. He raised his arms in surrender when James turned on him. "Bosses words, not mine! I have to go. Bye Abbs, bye frightening little child!" Tony left the room in a hurry.

James was angrier than he had been since Andron left his dirty drawers in the middle of the living room. Why the man's boxers were in the living room, James never wanted to know.

"I can not believe I just heard that. I don't just stay anywhere. This is ridiculous," James said. Abby gave him an odd look.

"You like being in the field?" she asked. James nodded.

"More of a chance of being shot at in the field," he answered. Abby turned to one of the computers situated on an island counter in the middle of the lab.

"Don't say that. Gibbs is out there, and Ziva, McGee, and Tony." She sounded quite defensive of the team, something he would have to remember. James chuckled, causing her to whirl on him.

"Yeah, but they're probably the kind of people that look for safety when something bad happens. I don't," he said. "I much prefer to get shot and succeed than stay safe and fail."

She shook her head with a knowing look. "Yeah, and how many times have you been shot? Video games don't count, either."

"Penetration, or does wearing a vest count?" She gave him a blank look. "Twenty, give or take. I've died a dozen times."

"Barring old age and in your sleep, how do you want to die… you know, for good?" Abby asked.

James opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it closed again, thinking better of it. "Being struck by a meteorite, I suppose, would be pretty cool. Very unexpected."

"What was your first answer?" James shook hi head. She smiled and poked him. "Come on, what was it?"

"Well-"

"A productive day we're having, I see," a strict red-headed woman said, coming in. Her face was stern, but her eyes were smiling. Jenny Shephard was the Head of NCIS, but James had been told that the woman had once been an amazing field agent.

"Director! I was just getting to know James. He's upset because he's not in the field," Abby stage whispered. The Director looked at James with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, you certainly can't be in the field. You're still a child," she said. James gave her a look that made her blink.

"I have never been a child. I built an F/A-18 Hornet when I was nine. I built a bomb capable of levelling a neighbourhood when I was six," James said. "I first fired a gun when I was four."

"Wow, the FBI must _hate_ you," Abby blurted.

"I still haven't gotten either back," James said. The Director shook her head.

"I can not, in good conscience, allow you into the field."

James spent most of the day sending angry e-mails to anyone higher up that would listen. He got a few replies that were mostly along the lines of, 'Well, I can't help you, but so-and-so might be able to'. James wanted to slap somebody.

As if answering a prayer, Abby's mass-spectrometer stopped with a few sparks and loud noises. "Oh boy, uh-oh," she said. "This is not good."

Gibbs entered at that moment with a cup of coffee. "Got anything?"

"A broken mass-spec," Abby said. "It malfunctioned with the hair evidence inside."

"Any good defence attorney will use that to claim mishandled evidence," James helpfully added from across the room.

"Abby," Gibbs said, sounding a bit strained, "that was the main evidence. What do we do now?"

"Get…more…evidence?" Abby suggested quietly.

"Damn it, Abby!" Gibbs turned on his heel and marched out of the lab.

"That was horribly rude," James said. "Now I want to put laxatives in his coffee."

He got a weak chuckle out of Abby, but barely managed to draw a smile. "Help me with this, will you?" she asked.

They spent a few hours together fixing the broken machine, laughing at random jokes or anecdotes the other told. James found out that Abby had a list of favourite ways to die. Oddly enough, falling into a wood chipper was in the top five.

"So, tell me about yourself. The internet can't be trusted," she said. She straightened up and stretched her back, looking at James keenly.

"What has the internet said about me, then?" he asked. She tilted her head and walked over to the island in the middle of the room; the two computer monitors there seemed to be her main base of operations in her lab.

"That you have one friend, and you stopped doing anything outside of work and academia after you got your first job. You used to race dirtbikes, skateboard, and free-style BMX. Digging deeper, there are no records of a family. What happened?" she asked, snapping around to look at him. James was certain that her heavy boots shouldn't have allowed that particular action.

"What do you mean?" James asked. She raised an eyebrow at him, suggesting that he would have to reconsider his question. "Are you asking what happened to my family? Well, at the moment, they are in Scotland… where they have been, for the most part, for the last thousand years."

"You're not a citizen?" she asked.

James shook his head. "I am very much a citizen of the United States. Look me up," he said, lifting his chin toward the computer. She stared at him for a moment, before doing just that.

Jethro Gibbs sat down at his desk just in time to receive a call from Abby. "Yeah."

"Gibbs, we've got a situation here. You're treating James like a little boy, and I don't like it."

"He _is_ a little boy, Abbs. I can't risk him being hurt. His family could sue, or something."

"Fix it, Gibbs!" demanded Abby.

"Abby, who is Team Leader here? I decide who goes in the field or not. Just keep the kid busy until I can get this sorted out."

Gibbs snapped his cell phone closed and leaned back in his computer chair. He looked over to find his three team members staring at him from the area of Tony's desk, which was diagonal to his. "Uh, boss? If you keep going on like this, that 'kid' might just kill you," McGee carefully warned.

Gibbs gave all three of them a look, hurrying them off to pretend they were working.

A few days after the boy showed up, Gibbs had had enough. When James was around, his coffee had a tendency to simply vanish. Things on his desk rearranged themselves without Gibbs noticing. The phone would ring, and when he picked it up, nobody would have ever called. Twice he found his hand glued to his coffee cup.

"Potter, what the hell is wrong with you?" Gibbs finally barked after the fifth day.

"Would you like a list?" James cheekily replied. DiNozzo, McGee, and Ziva looked both worried, and endlessly amused.

"You don't mess with a Marine's coffee, if you want to live," Gibbs snapped. James raised and eyebrow from the desk he had been tossed at; an out of the way thing next to McGee's, but separated by a cubical wall.

"I haven't been near your desk all day. What could I have done to your coffee?" he asked. Gibbs couldn't refute the logic at all. The boy had been sitting at the desk all day, talking on his cell phone.

"That reminds me. No personal calls while at work," Gibbs ordered. He got another raised eyebrow, this time accompanied by a smirk.

"I have yet to make a personal call. All calls I've made today are quite related to my continued employment with NCIS. Or my lack thereof. I may be able to negotiate a compromise… in which all my terms are met and the other party has no say at all. That's my kind of compromise."

"Non-existent?" Ziva asked. James nodded.

"I'm a stubborn person."

"Obviously you're not a people person," Tony muttered.

"As long as I get my way, people can fuck themselves for all I care," James said airily. Gibbs sipped his thankfully still there coffee.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asked. James looked at him for a long moment.

"Seeing as I grew up in an orphanage… no."

Gibbs nearly dropped the searing hot coffee in his lap. He caught it before he got more than a little on his hands. Tony's back straightened noticeably, and Ziva's head snapped up. McGee didn't seem all that surprised, really. "Oh," Gibbs said. He didn't know what else he could say to that. "I… didn't know that."

"Obviously there is a lot you don't know about me."

"Gibbs. MTAC. Now." Director Shephard's voice caused most in the room to jump; the sheer pitch made Gibbs' eyes cross. It was the tone of a Director. Gibbs hated that tone.

**0o0o0o0**

Andron wasn't having an easy time at Hogwarts. Jim Potter had gone off on another mission to fend off Death Eaters, and Andron was left teaching Defence Against the Darks Arts. He loved teaching, he honestly did… he simply didn't like the students he was teaching.

"Wow, you all fail," Andron said. "You're in a time of war… why aren't you learning offensive magic? Curses, hexes? You're seventh years! This is ridiculous!" Andron said. He collapsed into the chair behind the teacher's desk, sighing dramatically. Hermione Granger raised her hand.

"Why are you trying to change everything? Since you and Harry Potter have gotten here, students are being made to cook and clean more, which is good; but changing the curriculum? What makes you think that your way is better? This school has been around over a thousand years!" Hermione sounded as if she was merely curious, not really accusatory. Andron leaned back and clasped his hands together.

"Let me put it this way. The curriculum for this school has not changed in centuries. These lesson plans," Andron said, slapping the parchments on the desk, "were written by the Defence professor of sixteen-seventy-eight. Do you honestly believe that magic, or the world, has remained unchanged for four hundred years?"

"No. . ." she said, drawing the word out. Andron nodded.

"Indeed, the world has changed very much. Several countries have been created since these lesson plans. Many wars fought, lives lost, and laws broken. Muggles are now leaps and bounds ahead of wizards," Andron said. A few purebloods looked uncomfortable with that idea.

Draco Malfoy spoke up quietly, as if thoughtful. "How so? Wizards can do anything but bring back the dead."

"Muggles are very close to that. They can not fly brooms, but they have jets that go several times faster than the fastest racing brooms. They can't put a charm on dishes to wash themselves, but they have dishwashers to take care of that task. It's like a box that dishes go in, and water cleans them all at once. I respect muggles for their ability to cope without magic… they are far more capable of adapting to new situations than most wizards," Andron said. "To muggles, wizards are still in the Dark Ages, really."

"Then, why do wizards feel so superior?" a boy that Andron could vaguely identify as Neville Longbottom asked. Andron tilted his head and look at the group of NEWT level students.

"For much the same reason that Nazi's felt superior to Jewish people; for the same reason white people felt superior to black people; for the same reason English colonists felt superior to Native Americans; for the same reason any person feels superior. None of these superior feeling groups really took the time to get to know the group they oppressed, did they? Ignorance mixed with pride and lies has always led to trouble. If wizards spent a few weeks at a muggle home, they would be less likely to feel superior. You must experience how the other half lives to fully appreciate their lives," Andron said.

"But wouldn't muggles want magic, if they knew about it? so isn't magic better?" Theodore Nott theorized.

Andron shook his head slightly. "Any person will want something that makes their lives easier. I'm sure none of us would turn down a couple thousand galleons right now would we? How could we. '_No, keep your money, I'm quite happy right now_'. No, it doesn't work that way. If you could get floo powder that eliminated the horrible sensation of flooing, would you take it? I'm sure you would." Andron stopped to draw in a long breath.

"How have you come up with all of this?" Blaise Zabini asked from the back of the room. Andron mulled his answer over.

"I've lived with muggles and wizards, I've gone to school with both, I've had dinner with both, I've gotten drunk with both, and I've slept with both. I've studied sociology at a level that could make sociologists dizzy, and mastered psychological development enough to scare shrinks. I have not come across one difference between muggles and wizards, besides the ability to perform magic. Muggles do not have lower mental capacity, nor do they develop in any way that is different to wizards." The class stared at him for a few moments, before he dismissed them to lunch.

Hermione stayed behind as Ron Weasley and Sirius Potter rolled their eyes and went to eat. The two boys had spent the whole lecture playing hangman.

"Why are you so strange?" Hermione's eyes widened directly after the words burst out of her mouth. "Oh! Sorry, that was rude."

"And yet it was a perfectly logical question. Kindly elaborate, however," Andron prompted.

She hesitated only a moment. "Most of the time we see you in the Great Hall, you act like some immature little twelve year old. Sometimes however, in the classroom and such, you act more professor-ish than the professors. Do you have multiple personalities?" she asked in a rush.

Andron smiled and shook his head. "No. I simply know when I need to be mature, and when I don't. Sadly, James doesn't share this trait. He simply acts however he feels when he feels it."

"Are you a pureblood?"

"Why do you ask?" inquired Andron with his head tilted to the right.

Hermione stood, grasping her books tightly and looking nervous, and shifting from foot to foot. "I just. . ."

"Yes, I am pureblood."

"And… you're dating a muggle?" she asked. At his nod, she continued, "I've never met a pureblood who is so knowledgeable about the muggle world."

"That's another thing we should work to eliminate, is it not? We all share one world, isn't that right?" he asked. She smiled.

**0o0o0o0o0**

James sat staring at the man across from him. "Why am I here?" he finally asked. The man gave him that _look._ That look that he hated. The look of a psychiatrist.

"Your team leader asked to have you psychologically evaluated. He thinks that you may be-"

"Mentally incompetent? He's trying to get me fired," James stated without emotion. The psychiatrist was about to open his mouth, but James cut him off. "For years I studied profiling. If there were anything wrong with me, you would never know it, no matter how long you asked probing questions. This is an exercise in futility, and Gibbs would know that. So… they've done this to get me out of the way… of what?" James asked, tapping his chin with one long finger.

"Well, you certainly have logic down to an art form," the other man said. "Yes, Agent Gibbs asked me to evaluate you, because the team was leaving to a crime scene."

James shook his head in disbelief. "If that is all, I'll take my leave."

James walked in the bullpen and glanced around at the four empty desks; desks his 'colleagues' had abandoned in a hurry as soon as he had left the room. Tony's desk looked like an evacuation zone directly after a natural disaster. A half-eaten hamburger sat innocently on the messy desk, between the mouse and keyboard, with ketchup splattered about the bread and meat as if it had fallen from uncaring hands. A wilting slice of lettuce was in danger of falling off the side of the desk.

James walked over to Ziva's impeccably kept desk, noting the multitude of handy paperclips that she often threatened Tony with. Her computer was still searching databases for matches to a picture. James imagined that her chair had only just stopped spinning as he had walked in. He continued with his clockwise motion over to Gibbs' desk.

Gibbs was special, however, as he had _two_ desks. They were set up at ninety degree angles so one desk faced McGee's, the other faced Ziva's desk, and the corner pointed to Tony's desk. The drawer that Gibbs kept his gun and badge in was still open. The wastebasket next to his desk was full of used coffee cups; the styrofoam kind from over-priced coffee shops.

James moved to McGee's desk. He liked McGee. The guy was such a geek it was amazing. They liked the same kind of music and books, as well. McGee's desk was the foster home of a half dozen computer chips from the latest case. James smirked. It was a bad idea to leave evidence unattended, out of an evidence bag, and well within reach of whoever happened to walk by. James smirked. . .

**0o0o0o0**

Albus walked into the office he had vacated fifty years before. Minerva's office had retained much of what Albus had left, but her own unique style was quite visible. Looking closely, Albus spotted statues of a small family of lions situated on a bookshelf. The colors were mostly browns, with barely noticeably touches of red and gold.

The old Headmaster smiled as he saw his wife sitting at her desk with her glasses perched on her nose, grading papers. He walked over and sat near her on the edge of the desk. Her quill stilled mid-correction, and she looked up at him with a confused look. "Albus, what are you doing? I have work to do."

"As your employer, I am giving you the day off. As your husband, I'm asking to talk to you. Please, Minerva?" Albus asked. She gave him a look; a look startlingly similar to the one her mother had given him, when he had asked for her hand.

"Alright, I suppose. Not here. In the sitting room."

When the two of them were comfortably seated in their sitting room, Albus looked at Minerva for a long moment. "I fear, Minerva, that we have drifted apart in years passed. We have grown distant, and it frightens me."

Minerva took his hand in her own much smaller one. "I have felt the same way, Albus. What has happened to us?"

"It was after little Harry was sent away, I think," Albus whispered. "You sided with James and Lily."

Minerva nodded sadly. "Now… now I wish I hadn't. Seeing what has become of him, our grandson. We could have raised him. And now Harry and his friend hate me."

Albus pulled Minerva into an embrace. "They do not. And, if they do, I will be having words with them. Perhaps you should just talk to our young James. I do wish he hadn't changed his name. It has made things rather difficult." Minerva laughed.

"That it has."

"I promise you, my beautiful wife, that I will do everything I can to be closer to you once more," swore Albus. Minerva wrapped her arms around him with a devilish look in her eyes.

"I'm holding you to that. Want to start now?"

Albus laughed heartily.

**0o0o0o0**

Agent Gibbs had barely sat down at his desk when he heard various yells. Ziva's chair had fallen apart when she had sat down. When Tony opened his drawer, mustard squirted in his face. Gibbs was slowly looking around his desk, trying to find trip wires or telltale signs of tom-foolery.

"Boss!" McGee suddenly yelled. He lowered his voice to a near whisper before he continued. "Boss, the computer chips are gone!"

"What, McGee?" Gibbs snapped.

"Potter!" Ziva finally barked. Gibbs looked around as if Ziva had yelled '_look-out!_'.

"Yes?" the boy asked, looking up from his laptop.

"I am going to-" Ziva was cut off mid-threat.

"James! Time for your firearms proficiency!" Abby said after she appeared in the bullpen. She dragged him away by the arm.

"Boss! The chips are missing."

"Where did you leave them, McGee?" he asked. McGee looked guilty enough for Gibbs to know that McGee had done something utterly stupid.

"On my desk, boss."

"_Good job_."

Gibbs was ready to use James' head for firearms practice. . .


	19. Screw You, Warner Brothers

**Prodigy**

By ChipmonkOnSpeed

_**Fuck WB…**_

Standing next to Abby at the NCIS firing range, James considered shooting himself in the foot. Abby was teasing him, mostly due to his situation with Gibbs, and James didn't like it one bit. "Oh, I'm not sure I should let you fire a gun. It's a big responsibility, and you're just-"

James pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket and fired six rounds at the target. Abby jumped in shock. "You were saying?" James asked.

"You're not supposed to do that!" she complained. James pushed the button to have the paper target move toward them. Three holes in the forehead and three shots in the heart area.

"Going for the kill?" Gibbs' voice snapped from the doorway.

"Hey, we're fresh out of papers; can you hop over this counter and go stand over there?" James asked. Gibbs glared at him. Then he sipped his coffee and approached James with a menacing look.

"Where are the chips?" barked Gibbs. "Or I'll have you arrested for tampering with evidence and obstructing justice."

"_What_ are you talking about?" James asked indignantly.

"What am I- We've been running around for two hours looking for the chips that were on McGee's desk, Potter. What did you do with them?" By that time, Gibbs was inches way from James, yelling into his face.

"_Tictac_. On top of that, those chips are in an _evidence bag_ in Abby's lab," James said, shaking his head. "I don't think the Director would have appreciated seeing evidence loose on an Agent's desk without anyone watching it. Not good for PR, and all."

Gibbs turned red about the ears. "Next time you do something _helpful_, tell someone!" he snapped.

"Actually, I think the Director is the only one that didn't know, Gibbs," James said. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "And you, I suppose."

"Go somewhere that is not near me," Gibbs growled. James raised his hands in mock surrender and left the room. He happily strolled to the bullpen and sat in his chair, which did not have armrests. He rolled his head to crack his neck, and only then noticed that three people were glaring at him.

"You made my chair fall," Siva said coldly. James looked over and saw her glaring at him evilly. She was holding a paperclip in a threatening manner.

"Did I overestimate your reflexes, Officer David?" he asked. The paperclip snapped in her hand, and she threw it down on her desk.

Were James anything like Andron, he would have thought that Ziva David was exceptionally hot when pissed off. Being James, however, meant he only saw her as a pissed off trained assassin.

He was saved from hearing her threat when Tony got off the elevator with a young looking blond woman. Half the floor heard McGee mutter, "I didn't think we were allowed to bring dates to work."

As he left to follow Tony to an interrogation room, he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone before he looked again. He tracked Tony to the adjoining observation room, which held all sorts of awesome recording devices, and monitoring machinery.

Through the two-way mirror, the girl could be seen angrily twirling her hair and snapping bubble gum with menace. "She's a terrorist if I ever saw one," James deadpanned. "They're taking over the malls one by one. Terrible, really."

Tony levelled a glare on him. "Her father and boyfriend are both Navy. Her boyfriend is missing. We have evidence on her computer that she and an ex of her boyfriend plotted something. The father turned her over to us," Tony said. James nodded, smirking darkly.

"How old is she?" he asked.

"Just turned eighteen last month," replied the senior field agent. "Her father nearly had kittens when he found out that the twenty year old petty officer had been within a mile of his daughters personal bubble."

"Is that not motive?" asked James. Tony shook his head.

"It was. We've cleared him of any involvement. He was out of state when the boyfriend disappeared. This girl, however," Tony snapped, "won't say anything."

"To a Federal Agent," James replied, "but what about a peer?" Without waiting for a response of any kind, James strode out of the observation room, and into the interrogation room. He threw himself down into the chair across from the girls, crossed his arms over his chest, and tiled the metal chair onto two legs.

"Bastards," he muttered. He kept his eyes carefully trained on the bare tabletop.

The snapping sound of the hair twirling between the girl's fingers stopped. "What's up with you?" she demanded haughtily.

"I'm being kept here against my will," he replied in a similar tone. "Bastards said I'm a menace to society, or some shit. Why're you here?"

She rolled her eyes in an annoyingly immature manner, but James managed to hold back a grimace. "They say I kidnapped my boyfriend. Hmm," she muttered. "Like, they totally don't believe me. I told them that he's, like, a lot bigger than me; there's no way I could have, like, forced him into a van. They're just all, like, jealous 'cuz Daddy's rich, I guess. None off these Navy boys here could have, like, accomplished anything beyond, like, Navy stuff."

"Dude, I'd be surprised if half the motherfuckers here could accomplish anything beyond nose picking," James said hotly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was nearly beside himself. As he had walked to the interrogation room, Tony had nearly collided with him. He was unceremoniously dragged into the observation room. "DiNozzo, you had better-"

Then he saw James Potter talking to their number one suspect. He stared. And stared. The two teens were doing nothing but insulting the people of NCIS. Mostly Gibbs himself. As he continued to stare in disbelief, the girl slowly opened up to James. After a half an hour, most of the story was out.

She had not done anything that would have really been illegal, had it not led to the disappearance of a man. She had given the ex-girlfriend the man's address, times of the day he would be home, and the location of a constantly open window. After all of that was planned, she called the boyfriend to distract him as the revenge bent ex-lover broke in.

Gibbs had enough to charge her with conspiracy to kidnap.

James walked into the bullpen a few hours later, drinking 'coffee'. Sure, some of it had come from the classical coffee bean… but a good portion of it had come from a handy dandy little bottle imported from Germany.

As soon as he walked in, Gibbs was standing in front of him. "Are you slow, or just stupid?" he demanded.

"That depends," James answered, sipping from the styrofoam cup, "which one will get me kicked out?"

"If you hate it here so much, why don't you leave?' Gibbs asked. James sighed.

"Would if I could. When you work for the government, the government signs your pay checks, see? I was forced into a sabbatical from the LVPD lab. Can't work there until the end of next month. Or this month? What month is it? Hmm." James took another sip.

"What are we going to say to that woman's attorney? She was never asked if she wished to have an attorney present during questioning," McGee said. James raised an eyebrow.

"Who questioned? We merely spoke. And not once did I lie, so we're all good." Gibbs raised his hand to point at James. He opened his mouth and closed it several times, before he turned and stalked toward his desk.

James felt a magical rift on a split second before Tony grabbed his wrist. "Come-"

James pulled the two of them into a tight roll, landing on the ground hard. Tony coughed and sputtered, surprised by the sudden foreign feeling of apparation. James looked up into the surprised faces of Hogwarts students.

"Well," he said, "this sucks."

Tony slowly rose to his feet and looked around. James had come to recognize that look; the crinkled brow, lined forehead, dancing eyes, slightly curved and partially opened mouth. Tony was utterly confused, but also trying to hide a bit of fear. "What is this, exactly?" he asked in a tight voice.

"The place is irrelevant," James said. "I'm much more worried about the time."

"The time? It's three in the afternoon," Tony replied, checking his watch.

"Not in Scotland," Andron said, looking pale. "James, did you just apparate a muggle?"

"Mid time travel, mind you," James replied. "I don't think that's been done before, you know. What time is it?"

"Roughly seven-thirty. I mean, yeah, we are eating dinner," Andron said.

"No, I think most of you are staring, not eating," Tony quipped.

"This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Who's a good Obliviator?" James asked. "Well, me, for one. But that's obvious because I'm perfect. Let's see. No! Sorry bud, but it has to happen. You are now Victor von Dutch of Australia. Ready to start a new life?" James asked. Only Andron, who knew James well enough, knew that he was being sarcastic.

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" Tony asked.

"Let's take this to my office," James said. He took Tony's elbow and attempted to lead him from the hall. He didn't make it out, however, before Dumbledore made it in.

"James, who is this?" his grandfather asked carefully.

"My secret lesbian lover. Do you _mind_? We're busy." James brushed passed the old Headmaster, dragging Tony. "If there's a rubber band on the door, _don't_ come in."

Tony managed too keep his head out of the door frame, and let out a gasped, _"I like women!"_ before James violently tugged him. They sat Tony down in a comfortable leather armchair that Andron conjured while he wasn't looking. James poured him a drink and shoved it into his hands.

"Now, I think we're all mature enough to deal with this like adults. Tony, I'm a wizard."

The older man stared at him. James watched as horror slowly crept into his eyes. "Please don't tell me that's a new word for-"

"No, Tony! I'm not actually gay!" James snapped. Andron snorted.

"Well, think logically. You've been on one date… you cook…"

"Shut up, Andron," James snapped. He ran his hand through his hair in aggravation. "Tony, it's like this-" James suddenly changed his hair and eye color to blond and blue, respectively. Tony reared back, nearly toppling his chair. He knocked back the drink in his hand without a second thought.

"What was that?" Tony yelped. James glanced at Andron, who was laughing quietly.

"I'm a wizard, Tony. I can manipulate an energy commonly known as magic," James explained. Andron's laughing became louder, as he poured scotch into a glass. James changed his appearance back to his normal look.

"Only _you_ could make fucking _magic_ sound so utterly _boring_," his friend said. "You know, I shouldn't be talking to you right now, you know. This is against the law, and all."

Tony looked more confused. It showed with the added line on his forehead. "How is it illegal to talk to someone?"

James paused for a moment, before he summoned Andron's glass right out of his hands, as the dark skinned man was raising it to his lips. James drank it and turned to Tony. "We're time-travellers. What were you doing three hours ago?"

"I was bringing that girl into interrogation… when you took over and got her to confess everything without knowing it, but. . . "

"Tony, that's happening _right now_. I've _just_ entered the interrogation room," James said carefully. "You are, contrary to any muggle belief, in two places at once."

"How?" Tony weakly asked. He didn't sound as though he was fully convinced, but James was sure he could help with that. James held out his wrist; on which was an expensive looking watch.

"This was given to me when I was five. It's got a built in Time-Turner. I can go back in time," James said. "When you grabbed my wrist, you hit an activation button. This is odd, because you would have had to hit both of them."

"Back in time? Am I being punked?" Tony asked.

"Tell me, Tony," James said in a politely inquisitive tone, "how did I get you from the DC Navy yard to Scotland in less than a second?" His sudden cheery disposition seemed to throw Tony.

He spoke to Tony about the situation for another half an hour. He was sure he had the older man convinced, but poor Tony looked traumatized. He was ready to go back to NCIS when hell apparently decided it was time to break loose.

James opened the door that would lead to the Great Hall, when he was almost hit by a fist. "Gah!" he exclaimed. Dumbledore jumped.

"Sorry, James," Dumbledore said. "I've been knocking for twenty minutes."

"Silencing Charm," James said. "It's been there the whole time."

"Did you really apparate a muggle _while_ travelling through time?" Albus demanded. He managed to sound both angry and amused. "Through apparation wards?"

"It would appear so," James said. He moved passed the bearded man, dragging Tony once more.

"What would cause you to do such a thing?" Dumbledore asked. The Great Hall was empty save for the Potter's, Dumbledore, and a few of the professors.

"To preserve the space time continuum while preventing comic disaster… and the loss of my Special Forces badge. That would be utterly terrible," James said.

"So you just travel through time at will?" McGonagall demanded. James turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. At any given hour I'm three places at once. Why do you think I almost always manage to walk through this hall during a meal? Luck?" James asked with a derisive tone.

"Where are we going?" Tony asked.

"DC."

"We're not going to do that insane jumping thing again, are we?" Tony asked.

"Of course not," James lied. Tony sighed in relief. James grabbed his arm and turned both of them.

After one agonizing second of side along apparation, they landed in a dumpster next to the NCIS building. "Really? Are you kidding?" Tony demanded.

James gave him a long look. "It was this, my friend, or the portable toilet right next to this."

Tony's eyes widened.

* * *

_This AN is rated R for language and disturbing money making tactics._

Okay, if Harry Potter hadn't been my addiction for nigh on ten years, I would be over this shit _now_. Not only are they making Deathly Hallows two movies, so they can gouge twice the money out of me, now what's this bullshit with Half-Blood Prince? Eight months? Eight fucking months?

I look online a week ago, and there was a _hundred and four_ days to the release. Wootness, right? Wrong. I look again and we have _**332**_!? Three hundred and thirty two? That's a fragging month less than a bloody year!

So, you know what? Fuck the dumb shit. I'll wait fifteen months for the stupid movie to be On-fucking-Demand. I'll have twenty friends over, and we'll ALL watch it for 4.99! Not 15 apiece. They'll really play me like that for money? Those stupid ass bitches just lost at least two hundred and ninety five dollars. And if everyone did that...

**Who's with me? **Sorry that was such a long note. I get passionate. But they're not getting a damn extra penny out of my wallet now.

* * *

Short chapter, next one is longer, I promise.


	20. Hapiness Is Contagious

Prodigy  
By: ChipmonkOnSpeed  
**Happiness Is Contagious. . . And Possibly Deadly**

**--**

James and Tony entered the building with subterfuge in mind. James was trying to find a way to be in exactly the right spot at the right time, without getting the magical authorities called. The last time that had happened, it had not been pretty. James had blamed everything on Andron and run away. He felt no shame.

Gibbs of the past came into view, so James pushed Tony behind a fake palm tree. Tony gave him a look. "I'm flattered that you would think I'm so thin. . ."

"There's a charm around us. We're behind the tree because I wanted to push you."

"Oh, so first I'm gay, now I'm a punching bag?"

"I didn't punch you. Had I done so, you would be thinking you're a six year old girl," James said.

"Why do you want to emasculate me?" Tony asked. James rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Because I have a crush on you, DiNozzo."

"Really?"

"Ew no. Are you that desperate? Because I'm not."

They continued through the building, and because they couldn't use the elevator, they had to sneak up the stairs. Tony was huffing by the third floor.

"Are you quite all right? Or do you sit at a desk all day? Cut the calories, DiNozzo," James said. "Or do a sit up once in a while."

Before Tony could reply, they found two people making out on the fourth floor landing. Tony shoved his fist in his mouth to avoid alerting them by bursting into a fit of un-Tony-like giggles. On the next landing, the senior field agent started laughing.

"Palmer and Lee? Oh my god, I can't _wait_ to tell Probie!" James rolled his eyes and pushed open a door to the floor they needed. The area was clear enough, so James walked through the entry. A few agents walked by, but none noticed them.

"We need to be in the bullpen in ten minutes. Which means, DiNozzo, that you have to follow my lead. We have to act like we had been standing there the whole time. Do you understand?" James demanded. When he turned to see Tony staring at a female agent, he sent a stinging hex at his arm.

"Ow!" Tony yelped, rubbing his upper arm frantically.

"Are you trying to single-handedly destroy the world?" snapped James. "Listen to me for twelve seconds here."

James spent four minutes explaining to Tony exactly how to look natural after they got to the bullpen. "What?"

The man didn't exactly get it.

"As soon as we go back in time, I'm going to take the invisibility charm off of us. You have to act as if nothing has happened between you first grabbing my wrist, and the moment we become visible. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

"_Yes_."

Slipping into the bullpen with the intent of not bumping anything, James barely avoided running into Ziva, who stood suddenly. He raised five fingers at Tony. When the younger Tony and James disappeared, the older James and Tony were in place.

"What was that?" Ziva demanded.

"What was what?"

"That?"

"That _what_?"

"That!"

"I fail to see what you are speaking of," James said.

"You are impossible."

"I'm a man. That's how we're programmed."

James turned to find a young woman, perhaps in her twenties, standing near them. She was wearing a white button-up shirt and black work pants. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, and rectangular glasses rested on her nose.

"James Potter?"

"Still alive," James said absently. He was looking at her hand; in it was a white envelope.

"You've been served," she said, handing him the envelope. She walked away to the elevator.

James opened the envelope and read it. He was being subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution in the case relating to Lindsey's kidnapping. Tony, who had read it over his shoulder, let out a low whistle.

"Whoa."

--

Three days later found James in a witness chair in New York City. The prosecution was asking him questions that only apeared to be easy. "Where were you before the incident involving the defendant?"

James sat in the witness chair, staring at ADA Novak. "I can _not_ answer that question."

"Are you attempting to commit perjury?" the woman demanded. She sounded pissed that her own witness was not cooperating.

"I am attempting to _not_ commit perjury. If I give you an answer, it will have to be a lie. By law, there are many things I am not allowed to reveal."

"Oh, yes. You work for the Special Forces," Novak said.

The trial continued when the defence attorney questioned him. "Special Forces, hmm? Sounds like it involves Nazi SS activities. Tell me, Mr. Potter, you're not into that kind of stuff, are you?"

"I'll pretend you didn't just say that."

"Have I struck a nerve?" taunted the attorney.

The judge attempted to say something, but James spoke first. "My grandfather fought in World War Two. He was captured and tortured by the SS. I am slightly offended that you would compare me to them, yes," James said. He stared at the man until he turned away. James felt no guilt in using guilt to sway the jury. Of course, Dumbledore _had_ been captured by SS Wizards. . .

"Your grandfather must be fairly old. _You're_ only seventeen."

"My grandparents waited a long time. You're going to have to explain the relevance of this line of questioning."

"Background information. Now, you… _appeared_ in Las Vegas, _bullied_ your way onto a flight to New York, and proceeded to jump off a building?"

"Just another day in the life of me, yes."

"Were you drunk?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's been noted several times that you drink almost without pause. I ask you again- Were you drinking when you were 'abducted' by this man?" the man suddenly roared.

"Objection! Badgering the witness!" Novak exclaimed.

"Over-ruled. Answer the question," the Judge ordered.

"No, I had not been drinking," James said. He gave Eliot Stabler a subtle look.

"We have reports that you were acting drunk, yelling on a phone, and smelled like a bar," the attorney said.

"The suspect has a tendency to look for intoxicated victims. That was easily taken care of. Spilled some vodka on my shirt, and walked unsteadily. I take my work very seriously."

"Why did Detective Stabler give you money before you disappeared for an hour?"

"I won a bet. I wanted my money before I ended up in a hospital and eventually had to leave... again. When I left, it was to change clothes and to retrieve the alcohol to pour on those clothes," James said. He knew the lie was absurd; it had to be- Andron had thought it up.

"I see." The interrogation continued until the courtroom door burst open.

"Apologies, your honour. James Potter has an urgent call from Seattle, a Doctor Gregory House."

"Greg House wouldn't call me," James said.

"He is, sir."

"Then someone is either dying or dead," James muttered.

"How important is the call?" the judge asked the clerk.

"The Doctor said that a world famous oncologist is days away from death," the nervous clerk said.

"I'll take the call later," James said. The attorney raised an eyebrow at him. "Gregory House is a world famous diagnostician. He can handle things until this trial is over. Wilson won't die in the next twenty minutes."

"Listen, you inconsequential maggot, I need you in this hospital _twelve minutes ago_!" House's distinct voice boomed. The clerk's eyes widened, and he looked down at the phone in his hand,

"I guess it was on speaker?"

James heard the Judge let out a sigh. "Are there anymore questions for the witness?"

"The defence rests, your honour."

"You may go, Mr. Potter."

--

James walked into Hogwarts, killing time before he was expected in Seattle. No meal was being served, so James had to look at his watch to know the time. He thought he could get in a few minutes of werewolf research, at least, before he had to leave. Cruel as life could be, an owl intercepted him before he made it to his room.

His grandfather requested his presence in his office. James grumbled and began the trek to the hidden administrative centre. When he reached the gargoyle, he realized he had no clue as to what the password was. '_Shake it __like a polaroid picture_' popped into his head, but he remembered that was the password to the hidden files on Andron's computer. And the password to his porn accounts. Go figure.

James, fed up with trying to think of Dumbledore's password and only coming up with Andron's, climbed passed the gargoyle with a growl. When he got to the door, he threw it open.

"I _hate_ this wretched place," he said. Dumbledore looked up at him from a book and raised an eyebrow. James pointed at him from the doorway. "No, don't even look at me like that. This damned castle is inefficient. If I had to stay here all the time, I would commit suicide. Or patricide. I haven't yet decided," James said. Dumbledore rolled his eyes and motioned for him to sit down.

"Now," he said, setting his book down on the desk, "Minerva seems to think you and your friend hate her." He raised an eyebrow, and James stared at him.

"That wasn't a question, old man. Therefore, it does not invite a response," James said.

"Why do you hate my wife?" Dumbledore asked bluntly.

"I don't."

"Then why-"

"I don't hate her, but I don't have any strong like for her, either. She's never been anything but cold and indifferent to me. I've never had time to worry much about it." James' cell phone began to ring. He looked at the screen and saw House's name. He thought for twelve seconds, before he declined the call.

"So you have no negative feelings for Minerva?" Albus asked.

"And yet no positive feelings. We call something like that neutral-" His phone rang again. Again, it was House. He declined the call once more. "This man knows I can't be there in less than eight hours. It's been... two. Ridiculous. I told him that his friend wasn't going to die immediately."

"Who's not going to die?"

"Some guy in Seattle. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?" James asked.

"How far have you gotten on the cure?"

"Pretty damn far," James said. "We're close. Very close. I once wrote a thesis on an obscure branch of biochemistry. It was thirty five pages long. By the tenth page, I not only wanted to go on a killing spree, but I wanted to burn every building that facilitates biochemistry in the world. By the thirty second page, I loved biochemistry more than anything. Now, here's the comparison. Let's just say that I'm on page twenty seven of the cure. For the love of. . . ."

James answered the phone and told House that he would be there. "That's all I had to ask. I don't wish to hold you up any longer."

James stood up and began to walk out of the office. He stopped, and spoke without turning around. "Get more sleep. You're setting yourself up to collapse from exhaustion."

"How would-"

"You're using magic to cover the black marks under your eyes. You're reading a book that not even god could be interested in. You asked to talk to me, so you would know if I hated your wife. You had to get that off your mind. You've had six cups of tea in the last three hours, staying awake until I got here. You haven't even been to your bedroom in two days."

"Now how would you-"

"You've gotten several floo calls both nights," James answered. "Ambient magic of the transfer is left in the air for several days. See you later, old man."

Albus watched his grandson go, wondering just how easily James could use his extraordinary gifts for the Dark side.

--

James walked into the hospital and asked after House. The man was, apparently, in his office. James walked down the long hall, and came to the glass wall office. The curtains were pulled over but not closed. Opened the door and walked through the curtains.

"House," James said, "explain to me why I saw Wilson walking through the hospital."

House looked up from his computer and raised his eyebrows. "Because nobody but me believes he's sick."

"You called me out of court… said the man was dying… Are you kidding? I travelled across the country because you _think_ your friend is sick?" demanded James. House shrugged as he stood up. He grabbed his cane off the edge of the desk and limped past James.

"I am a diagnostician. I diagnosed him."

"_What_ does he have?" inquired James. He followed the egotistical doctor into a connecting room. The room was open and bright, with a long table surrounded by chairs, and a dry-erase board off to the side. Three doctors James had never seen; two men and a woman.

"Ridiculously Smart Kid, this is Thirteen, Kutner, and Taub. Thirteen, Kutner, Taub, this is Ridiculously Smart Kid," House said by way of introduction.

James shook each of their hands, and got their individual names at the same time. James gave his own, not wanting anybody to call him that horrid name. Thirteen was a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long brown hair. Kutner seemed the same age, with Black hair and friendly brown eyes. Taub was a short little man with dark hair and a sly smile in his early forties.

"So, House, who is this?" Kutner asked.

"This is James Potter. He was a patient of mine months ago," House answered. He seemed preoccupied as he stared at the blank whiteboard.

"What happened?" Thirteen asked James.

"He had a wicked heart attack, and no one could figure out why," House replied. Silence reigned for a moment.

"Well," Taub said, "why did he have a heart attack?"

"_I_ don't _know_."

"Oh. Have we gotten a case, then?" Thirteen asked.

"Not in the traditional sense. You three, go work in the clinic. Bye," House said detachedly. Kutner raised an eyebrow.

"You're not still on about Wilson, are you? Why are we working in the clinic?"

"Plausible deniability," James said. "It is a good idea."

"He's right," Thirteen said. She began to head for the door. "Cuddy can't fire us this way." They left, and House stared after them for several seconds after they were out of sight. He then looked at James.

"Come with me," House commanded. He moved out of the room as quick as a man missing thigh muscle could move. He was practically running. James lengthened his stride just to keep up.

"Where _are_ we going?"

James was caught off guard as House shoved him into the MRI room moments later. "Good lord, House. Did you even check if this was being used? _That_ machine _there_… that's a giant magnet. Were it on, I would be dead- or worse; _crippled_."

"I'm stung," deadpanned House. "I checked the schedule already. I need the privacy. Cuddy said I can't pursue the issue. Wilson doesn't believe me, but I know he's sick."

"Why am I here?"

"The last time you were here, a girl got better after you saw her twice. You did _something_. I won't ask what it was, but it worked," House said. He turned to look at the machine in the middle of the room. "Wilson doesn't trust me, since I dosed his coffee with amphetamines. But I know he's sick."

"What are his symptoms?" James wearily asked.

House rattled off a list of rather inane 'symptoms'. James hopped on the MRI machine and sat perched on the patient table. He tried to think of one disease that had symptoms including 'euphoric behaviour' and 'charitable donations'.

"I've got it!" James said. "He's _happy_. Sh_oo_t, you're going to have to _quarantine_ that guy. I heard that stuff is contagious."

"Hey! I'm serious. Something is wrong!" James looked House over. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept in days. Though he usually looked slightly unshaved, he looked like he was really working on a beard. James could feel his worry, no matter how hard the man tried to hide it.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help. What do you need me to do?"

"Get into Wilson's office. Find anything relating to his medical history. Get on his computer, in his files, his cell phone. _Everything_," House enunciated.

"Can do. Where will you be?" James asked. House finally turned to look at him.

"Getting lunch with Wilson. Someone has to distract him." The man limped from the room, leaving James to stare after him.

--

The office of James Wilson, Oncologist, was rather nice. James looked around at the couch directly across from the door, and the desk to the left of the entrance. Bookcases lined the walls behind the desk, leather-bound tomes of medicine. A sliding glass door led to a balcony, adjacent to House's own.

James sat at the doctor's desk and turned on his computer. He ran into a password screen, and bypassed it quickly. He found a folder filled with appointments, dates, and times, but nothing interesting. He searched the locked, probably House proofed, drawers. As if James could be discouraged.

He wrote down everything that could be of use to a diagnosis. The last drawer had a false bottom. Underneath was a stash of documents. Using a shorthand method Andron had come up with for a project, James copied the hidden documents onto another piece of paper.

As he closed the drawer, the doorknob began to turn. Waving his hand, James set everything back in order. The door cracked open. James cleared the desk in a clean leap, running toward the sliding glass door. He threw it open with another snap of his wrist. He was over the barrier separating the balconies belonging to Wilson and House when he heard Wilson enter his office completely. He walked into House's office and sat down, clutching the papers protectively.

The man himself walked into the room. "Way to keep him occupied," James snapped.

"He had an appointment with a patient," House said. James looked up at him.

"No, he doesn't. I looked at his appointment book, and he doesn't have an appointment for an hour and a half." House sat in the chair in the corner of his office.

"I feel duped. Did you get anything?" House asked. James held up the papers.

"Only a veritable diary of his life," said James, as he rolled his eyes. "That is one crazy man. He's had more wives than I've had jobs. Ish."

"Four wives isn't unusual," House said as he walked forward to take the papers. James raised an eyebrow as House looked at them.

"His files indicated more than four women, but, okay. . ."

"How am I supposed to read this?" the older doctor snapped.

"You're not. That's a man's private files. Ethics say you shouldn't read them," James admonished, smirking in a condescending way.

"Ethics say I'm not supposed to sleep with patients. Translate that," ordered House. James wrote out a matching copy on a separate piece of paper.

"Anything else, Doctor House?" James asked as if he were speaking to a young child. For some reason, pissing House off was endlessly entertaining. Especially considering the man had practically held him hostage.

"You might want to stay out of sight, especially around Wilson and Cuddy."

"Cuddy is a mid-sized woman with dark hair and brown eyes, correct?" asked James.

"Yeah," House said.

James ducked under the desk as the Dean of Medicine, Lisa Cuddy, walked in to the office.

"House, why is your team in the clinic?" she asked.

"We don't have a case. The have medical degrees, so I thought perhaps they should practice medicine. There isn't much else they can do, aside from annoy me. This is a win-win situation. They help patients, I'm not annoyed," House said. James wondered if the man knew he was rambling.

"I… see. And this has nothing to do with Wilson, right?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I need to tell you, since you didn't go to the _mandatory_ meeting, that this hospital was ranked first in diagnostics. There will be a bonus in your next pay check. Are you sure nothing is going on?" she asked suspiciously. James dearly wished he could see their faces. However, from the awkward position under the desk he had chosen, he couldn't. And, House didn't know that James, literally, could be invisible.

"Nothing," answered House. James was surprised at how innocent the man could sound.

"All right." Doubt filled her voice, but she left the room anyway. James stood up, relieving his rapidly cramping legs.

"So, number one in diagnostic medicine. Good job, Of course, I guess it comes with the territory, if you're diagnosing seemingly healthy people. There might be a vast psychological explanation for that, you know," said James. House rolled his eyes and continued reading the translated paper.

"Tell me," he said after a moment, "why a healthy man would get a prescription for sleep meds… from a hospital he doesn't work at?"

While James pondered, House walked out of the room. James followed indignantly. "Perhaps because he doesn't want you questioning his sleep pills?" demanded James. They reached a balcony that overlooked the main entrance to the hospital.

"Will you take this seriously?" snarled House. James looked at him.

"I am taking this seriously! My serious just happens to include rude comments and derogatory jokes. And… Oh _jaysus_," James said.

On his way to the elevator, James Wilson collapsed and began seizing. James Potter looked at House for a split second before he took off.

* * *

Wow, I was pretty sad only, like, four people noticed my summary and/or proile. And I had to tell one of them. Still, it made me giggle. Teehee.

My beta was offended when I failed to capitalize "Jesus", so I wrote it phonetically. As in, how I say it, and not the rest of the world, because somehow I see him doing that.

Did anyone else notice that I now have three James's running aound...?


	21. Aliens ARE Real

This is going to be edited, later, a lot. I rushed this thing out. It will probably be reposted again before Monday

* * *

On his way to the elevator, James Wilson collapsed and began seizing. James Potter looked at House for a split second before he took off.

At a run, James leapt over the railing down to the first floor and landed fairly close to Wilson. Deciding to make a resolution to use only staircases and elevators for at least a week, James ignored the pain in his knees and knelt beside the doctor. The man was unconscious and limp. There was blood under his head, and running down his chin. He must have bit his tongue while thrashing about.

Wilson was taken to a room and stabilized. James got a call. When he looked at the phone, the caller ID said 'NCIS Gibbs'. James let out an, "Uhhhhhh," and denied the call. He would deal with them later.

James followed Doctor Wilson to his room and listened as Cuddy and House examined the unconscious doctor. "House, you are not on this case. You," Cuddy said to James, "what's your name?"

"Doctor James Potter."

"You'll be the lead on this case. House, do you understand that?"

The stubble faced man stared at her for a moment. He turned on his good leg and made his way out of the room, leaning on the cane more heavily than he usually did.

-____________-

In the NCIS building, dizzy from apparating and time travelling once again, James strolled across the room and sat at Gibbs' desk. According to the universal time-line, Gibbs had just called his phone, and James had just denied the call. Bored, he grabbed the stapler and pencil sharpener and waited for the team to exit the elevator.

When they did make it to the bullpen, James was firing staples across the room, like a staple gun.

"What the hell did you do to my stapler?" Gibbs asked.

"I improved it. Now it's lethal."

"It was lethal before. As a club."

James stared at the grey haired man. "Wow, mine was way more inventive."

"Get out of my chair, Potter," ordered Gibbs. James stood up and moved to the desk he had been assigned. Gibbs' phone rang and he answered it abruptly. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah." He set the phone down with a snap. "Gear up. You too, Potter."

They followed Gibbs down to the car and got in. "Have you ever seen a dead body before?" Tony asked. James stared at him.

"Are you kidding?" James asked in a monotone. He refused to believe someone had posed that question to him.

"Not really, no," Tony answered, suddenly unsure. James continued to stare at him as McGee took a corner in a startlingly sharp manner. He was generally as conscientious driver.

"I paid for a two-thousand-seven Ford pick-up in cash over a year ago. It was fully funded by me lugging corpses for a coroner when I was nine. I performed my first autopsy on a person when I was seven. Yes, Agent DiNozzo, I've seen dead people."

"Well, now you get to see three of them," Gibbs said. "One Marine Captain and his two sons were stabbed to death in a motel room. Potter is taking point on this one."

Tony's jaw dropped and he looked betrayed. "Boss, I have seniority-"

"I said Potter will take point." The car stopped and they climbed out into the biting cold. "Well boss?" Gibbs asked him.

"What month is it? I need to get out more," James muttered. "What are you waiting for; the suspect to walk up with a neon sign? Tony," James said sweetly, "you can sketch the scene."

Tony did not look like a happy camper. When the rest of the team was out of the area, Tony walked up to James and grabbed his shoulder.

"Potter, I have dirt on you worse than I have on Ziva," Tony said. James laughed outright.

"What are you going to say? 'I was kidnapped by a crazed wizard who took me back in time'?" James said. He laughed again and walked away, shaking his head. "Good luck with that."

A few minutes later, James saw Tony sketching the perimeter and he smirked.

He entered the bathroom and saw the body of the Marine Captain. He looked to be in his mid-forties, and had salt-and-pepper hair and a face that had gone unshaven for a few days.

The medical examiner, Donald "Ducky" Mallard, arrived and set to work. "He passed six hours and forty seven minutes ago," James said. Ducky looked up at him, and James saw a glint of curiosity in his eyes, behind his glasses. James raised an eyebrow at him. "You can check, if you like."

"Young people," Ducky muttered. He turned to look at the face of the deceased. "No respect for age."

"Age only matters when it comes to wine," James said easily. "I have spent fourteen years of my life learning of death. It is vastly more interesting than learning of life. And I can tell you that this man passed six hours and forty eight minutes ago."

Gibbs walked in as Ducky took a liver temperature. "Time of death, Doctor?" he asked.

Ducky glanced at James for a split second before he looked at Gibbs and said, "Just less than seven hours ago, Jethro." James internally smirked at his triumph. "I would very much like to get him to autopsy. James, I have already cleared the other two bodies. Could you assist in moving them?"

James assented and before long he and Jimmy Palmer. "Your name isn't James, is it?" James asked.

"Yes, it is," Jimmy said brightly. James sighed. He was going to have to come up with a different name for himself.

-____________-

Back in Seattle, James was attempting to stop Wilson's second seizure. When the tremors passed, James exhaled sharply. He walked back to the differential diagnosis room and found the House's team there. The debated for several hours, before most of them went home to change clothes at least.

Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, stood and stared at two of the most well respected doctors in the hospital at that moment. She stood next to Allison Cameron, Senior Attending Physician of the Emergency Room, who also gaped in shock.

They stared as James Potter and Gregory House attacked each other with dry-erase markers. James held a black marker, and House had several long black streaks across his face and clothing. House held a red marker, and James possessed many red colored streaks of the same nature.

When Cuddy regained herself, she opened the door and stepped through. "What is going on?"

The two men stopped and stared at her. "Going over possible ailments," James said. Cuddy nodded in utter confusion.

"Yes. As I was saying, he could have a pain in his eye." House slashed the pen over James' eye.

"Or his arm." James plunged the tip of the marker into the nerve under Houses' arm. House grimaced in discomfort."

"Or his ribs," House jammed the marker between two of the Ribs on James' left side, and James was sure he felt it poke his kidney.

"Or his-"

Cuddy decided to intervene, and she grabbed the markers away from them. She pointed them at threateningly. "No more markers," she said. They nodded at her and backed up a bit. She turned to leave.

"She always this scary?" James muttered to House.

"She's scarier when she's off her meds," House replied. Cuddy whirled around.

"House!"

-____________-

James stood in the autopsy room with Ducky and Jimmy. They stood over the youngest son of Captain Antony O'Brien, Lenny. He was thirteen, and he had been stabbed six times.

"Which one was the fatal slash, however?" Ducky asked. Jimmy looked over the body intently.

"The stab to the heart," he answered.

"Lung," James said. "These stabbings weren't rapid. The stab to the lung occurred some several minutes before that to the heart."

"He's right, Jimmy," Ducky said. "James, could you take this evidence to Abby?"

James took the hair samples and went to Abby's lab. He stared, however, when he saw the massive build up of energy drink cans. "Should I trust you with this?" he asked. She spun around and looked at him.

"What? No, these aren't mine. They were found at the crime scene." James nodded without conviction and set the small plastic jars down. Abby took them, paranoidishly checking to make sure all evidence protocols had been followed.

"I'll go then," James said.

"Wait!" Abby exclaimed as he was almost out the door. "How strong are you?"

-____________-

Finding that all of the markers had been taken, James and House resorted to a glaring match. "You are holding out," James accused. House tilted his head without breaking eye contact.

"I've told you everything."

"Have not," James said. "I need to know everything about this man you can tell me."

"I will not do it. That would make your life easy."

James stared at him for several seconds. Without hesitation, James grabbed the older doctor's cane and walked from the room. "Hey! Give that back!" House yelled.

"No! That would make your life easy!" James replied.

He walked to the main nurse's station twirling the cane in his right hand. He stopped and gave the head nurse a charming, disarming smile. "Hello," James said. "Could you do me a favor? Take this cane and hide it?"

She smiled at him. "This belongs to House?" James nodded. Her smile widened and she took the cane. "I would be happy to."

"You are a wonderful person," said James.

After hiding the cane, James continued to search out the team. Eric Foreman was in the lab, and he was sure he could find Taub there as well. The whereabouts of Thirteen and Kutner remained a mystery.

He walked into the lab to find Foreman looking into a high power microscope. The doctor looked up as James walked in. "I've found something."

-____________-

James walked into the blessedly empty Great Hall, only to hear the lunch bell ring a moment later. He swore violently and hoped to be gone before too many students appeared.

Andron foiled his plans, however. Andron, who as it would turn out, was a liar liar pants on fire.

Searching for a file in their shared living quarters, James heard the telltale tone of Andron's mother calling her son. With no Andron to answer, James did so in his stead.

"James?" she asked when she heard his voice. "What are you doing in Iraq?"

It took James a moment to respond, but when he did, it was only to say, "What?"

Floating in a near palpable cloud of glee, James walked over to Andron, who was busy eating lunch. He cuffed the corn-rowed head and laugh as Andron jumped.

"You told your mother you joined the Marines?" James asked. Andron's eyes widened as he stood up and swung around to face James.

"Perhaps." The fact that the usually deep voice cracked made James laughed. He walked down the table to leave, but he could not stop laughing.

"Oh, please. Can I give the eulogy?"

"Shit! You didn't tell her, did you?" demanded Andron.

"Well, when I answered your phone, she was a little confused as to why I was in a War Zone," said James. He laughed again and continued walking.

"I'm going to be murdered."

"What I want to know is why," James said.

"My mother gets hatred of Britain from my father, who got it from his father, who was shot thirteen times by a Brit during the War. I can't very well tell her I'm helping the fuckers!" Andron said, pacing.

Two angry looking people walked into the hall as James was about to exit. When they saw him, they raised their wands. He vaguely recognized them as friends of his brother. James felt her should know their names. He searched his mind and came up with them; Ron and Hermione.

"This isn't very friendly," James said. "And you can bet my reaction is about to be equally so."

"Where's Sirius?" the girl demanded.

"Jacking off? Girl, I don't know. Let me by." They held their ground firmly.

"Where is our friend?" Ron demanded.

"I can't bring myself to care," James said. "I have a sick Oncologist in Seattle, a dead Marine and his two dead sons in DC, and a man with failing kidneys in New York. If you don't mind, I have to go diagnose a stubborn disease, get a child killer off the street, and donate a kidney. Good day." James pushed passed the two students.

Andron collapsed onto his back in the middle of the hall and let out a growl. "I'm too pretty to die," he muttered.

-____________-

James sat in a chair next to Drake's hospital bed. Drake himself was on oxygen and looked half-dead. James shook his head and held the older man's hand in his own.

"You know, Drake, this here is two thousand eight. Not nineteen seventy-three. Now you need things like a search warrant to enter someone's home. Or, at least knock. The man that shot you, well, he was defending himself."

Drake opened an eye and stared at James. He rasped something, but James couldn't understand him. The old man tried again, and made his words clearer. "He was… a rapist."

James smiled. "Hey, I'm not saying I don't understand why you did what you did. Just that you could have done it better. However, things work out in the end. At least now you found out you had a kidney problem."

"Now I'm stealing one of yours," Drake said. James laughed and laid his free hand on Drake's shoulder.

"Freely given, my friend. It is honestly the _least_ I could do; after all you've helped me, it's only fair. Besides, the doctor said I could have one of your kidneys," James said. Drake laughed and squeezed James' hand.

James walked himself into the operating room, fully dressed, and turned to the surgeon. "Ready?" James asked. The surgeon, and long time acquaintance of James', nodded. He sat down in a chair and took out a cup of coffee. James sat on the operating table amidst shocked stares from the rest of the surgical team, and took off his shirt.

James picked up a scalpel, and proceeded to take out his own kidney. The surgical team was too stunned to move.

-____________-

James walked into the Great Hall, and for the first time, he planned for it to be in the middle of dinner. Andron looked at him as he entered, and dropped his fork.

"Dude! You're covered in blood!" Andron yelled. The staff and students went quiet to look at James. James himself noticed that his brother was sitting between his two friends at the Gryffindor table.

"I know. I had fun."

"That was very Hannibal Lecter," Andron mentioned. "Now, this might seem off topic, but… Why are you covered in blood?"

"I removed my kidney," James said. He did a short victory dance.

"You removed your own kidney?" Andron asked. "You're supposed to be sedated for that, you know."

"I set a hospital record for fastest removal of an internal organ."

Andron was silent for several seconds. "Can I see?" James lifted his shirt and Andron's jaw dropped. "You _stapled_ yourself?"

"Of course. I was in a hurry, you know. After I took the damn thing out, I put it in Drake."

"You are one crazy son of a bitch. Then again, I did see you cut an man's head open and poke his brain."

"Guess what I got?" James said.

"Abdominal pain?"

"Funny. No. I've got a jar of kidney!" James waved his hand and in it appeared a clear jar holding an organ suspended in fluid.

"I'm jealous!" Andron complained. James waved his other hand and another jar appeared.

"I got you one too!"

"What potion uses human kidneys?" Severus Snape asked coldly.

James and Andron looked at each other and both answered, "Potion? I'm thinking… bookends!"

* * *

Everyone seemed to be confused as to what I meant when I said there were three James's. I meant

**James** Potter

Harry "**James**" Potter

**James** Wilson

Now we have** James **Palmer.


	22. Tongue Scraper

I do not own any TV show, or book. All recognizable materials belong to much smarter, and richer, people.

Chapter 22: Tongue Scraper.

I do hope the page breaks make it easier to read.

* * *

James and Andron carefully set the jars on a shelf, on either end of a row of books. They stepped back and looked at the new centerpiece of the room.

"It's poetic," Andron said. He turned to James. "You owe me a poker game, you know."

James looked at his watch and thought for a moment. He was in Seattle with Wilson; he was in New York with Drake; he was in Washington, DC with NCIS. James had planned to spend his time at Hogwarts researching, but. . .

"We need more than two people," James said without much enthusiasm. Andron let out a triumphant whoop and ran out of the room. James went to the mini-fridge Andron had been determined to have, and took out a bottle of beer. He stared at it for several seconds before he rested it at the edge of the counter and hit it with his palm. The cap came off easily.

As he raised it to his lips, the door burst open. Andron entered with a startled Dumbledore, and with Jim Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. The latter three looked shocked and confused.

"Oh, quite the party," James said. Sirius and James were staring at the gun rack near the window. "The one on the right is an original Sturmgewehr 44."

"Ah, but the one on the left is an original anti-tank gun," Andron muttered.

"It is not, D. It is simply a .50 caliber handgun. So overdramatic," James said. Andron rolled his eyes and conjured a wood table in the center of the room.

"Sit," he ordered the older men.

"Why are we here?" asked Dumbledore.

"We're playing poker. Don't complain. Now, sit," Andron ordered. "Beer?" The men sat while James made threatening motions to Andron behind their backs. Andron simply indicated his cell phone and winked at James. James hated revenge.

"You all know how to play?" James asked, sitting down and taking out a new deck of cards.

The fair haired werewolf nodded without hesitation. The two dark haired men gave him a weird look. "What? I learned at the Compound."

The Compound was a safe place in England for werewolves to spend the full moon. James decided that in the hours preceding the transformation, the affected people would have to have something to do, so playing poker was a good choice. He would have to ask Lupin about talking to some of the werewolves sometime.

"I know how to play," Dumbledore said. When Jim swung to his right to look at him, Dumbledore gave him a look. "I learned from men in the American Navy, during the War."

"Oh, well, _I_ don't know how to play," Jim said. Sirius nodded.

"Well then, we'll teach you," James said with a dark smile. He shuffled the cards with practiced ease and dealt efficiently.

"What specific type of poker are we playing?" Remus asked.

"You're a _smart_ cookie," Andron said. "Always make this man tell you. Cuz he won't tell you, and then he'll change it twenty-six times without saying anything. We're playing Texas Hold 'Em."

"Don't bother trying to magically interfere with the cards, because they are charmed against it," James added. He looked at his cards briefly. "We'll play a few hands free, then y'all gotta ante up." As the game progressed, and as James progressed through a case of beer, he became more open.

Dumbledore was to his left, and Andron was to his right. Jim sat to Dumbledore's left, with Sirius to his. Remus sat to the right of Andron. Due to the size of the table and the amount of elbowroom, Jim was practically across from James. By the same happy coincidence, James could see Sirius cheating.

"Albus," he said. "When you played with the Navy, did you lose large sums of money?" he asked. Dumbledore looked up from his cards with a raised eyebrow.

"Why, yes, I did," the Headmaster replied.

"Do you know your cards reflect in your glasses? Because Sirius does," James said. Albus glared at the sheepish looking Sirius and took off his glasses. He waved a hand over them and put them back on. The charm stopped the reflectivity of the glass. "I knew a man that would look at cards in the reflection of the _eye_. It isn't long before you learn to wear sunglasses when playing him. Of course, he was killed a few years back. I did his autopsy."

"So, what is an autopsy, anyway?" Jim asked. He seemed tentative and unsure. A baker's dozen of beers made James more receptive than he usually would have been.

"After someone dies, they are cut open and examined, to determine cause of death. It is an interesting field of study," James answered.

"As interesting as kidney removal?" Albus asked shrewdly.

"Not quite. But close. Removing kidneys is an _art_. Hell, removing organs is an art. Two pair," James said. He grabbed the pile of poker chips from the center of the table and pulled them to him. He slapped Andron's hand when he tried to steal one. "So, Andy, talked to your mother lately?"

"Yes. I told her that I did, in fact, join Marines. For lunch. She just _assumed_. . ." Andron trailed off as James dealt another hand. "Now, however, she won't speak to me."

"That's a damn shame," James said around his freshly lit cigarette.

"Shame? She _un_invited me from Christmas dinner! Now what am I to do?" Andron asked as he pushed a pile of chips to the center of the table.

"When is Christmas, anyway? I thought that already happened. What day is it?" James asked. He folded his ridiculously bad hand and looked at Andron.

"December nineteenth. It's your turn, Dumbledore, and we're waiting," Andron said. Dumbledore pushed all in, causing both Jim and Sirius to fold quickly. Remus raised easily.

Dumbledore eventually won the hand, and Andron broke out a new case of beer… to 'celebrate'.

"If Hogwarts were invaded," Dumbledore said, looking at his cards, "you two _would_ be set, wouldn't you?"

"Is that a crack about our beer storage?" James demanded. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him.

"Perhaps."

"Why did you take my name?" Jim Potter suddenly said. James saw the bottle of beer next to him, and wondered if the man would remember that night the next morning.

" 'Harry' happens to be the most ridiculous name I've ever heard. You don't get Harry's very often in America. It ranked in the mid five hundreds there in name popularity, I believe. Whereas here, it ranked something like forty-five of fifty. I told the people at the orphanage in Los Angeles that I didn't want to be known as Harry, and thus they called me James. I tried to get them to call me something else, but it stuck," James said with a shrug. He threw a few chips into the middle of the table. "At the time, as well, I had no idea what a prick James Michael Potter was."

"Why not change it?" Jim asked.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," said James. "A name is a name. You hold no monopoly on the name James. I simply redeemed it." He laid a straight on the table.

"Damn it," Andron muttered.

James walked into the kitchen and threw a bottle into the recycling container. He grabbed a bottle of rum and a six pack of Coke, and turned to walk back into the living room. He stopped when he heard Andron speak. "You do know that he changes that story every time he tells it, right? Just slightly, but it changes."

"Oh," Jim said. James walked in and sat down, breaking the seal on the bottle.

Within an hour, James had turned the simple poker game into a drinking game reminiscent of his college days. Every fold mean the folder had to drink a beer. Every loss meant they had to drink a beer. Every pocket aces meant they had to drink a beer. Every time someone won a pot, everyone else had to drink a beer. Every time someone got a seven of hearts, they had to knock back a shot of whiskey.

* * *

Lilly Potter and Minerva McGonagall sat at the breakfast table wondering where their husbands were.

"I think, Mother, I know where they are," Lily said quietly. She turned to look at the door that led to her eldest son's rooms, and her mother followed her gaze.

"Do you think they are still alive?" Minerva asked.

"Well, James likes his grandfather, and Dad wouldn't let anything happen to Jim, so, yes, I think they're alive. Remus and Sirius are missing, as well," said Lily.

"Your father didn't come to our rooms last night," Minerva said with worry. Lily nodded.

"Neither did Jim." She felt strange calling her husband by a different name than the one she had known him by all her life. She felt, however, that him giving up his name to their son was his way of beginning to apologize. She stood and began banging on the door. "Potter! Get your worthless self out here right now!" she yelled. "James Michael Potter! Get out here now, or you'll spend the rest of your nights on the couch! Mom says that goes for you, too, Dad!"

"I said no such thing!" Minerva denied quietly. Lily flashed a grin at her. Students were just then entering the hall for breakfast.

The door slowly opened, and James emerged, supporting Jim greatly. Jim slurred something that could have been anything, and looked at Lily. "You're _pretty_!"

She glared at him, but smiled at James. "Thank you, James. I'll take him from here." He nodded at her as Andron exited the door bearing Remus and Sirius.

"Holy shit, could y'all weigh any more?" he asked the drunken men. The giggled and fell in a heap when Andron rolled his eyes and dropped them.

James turned to Minerva. "I'll take Albus directly to his room. His students shouldn't seem him as tipsy as he is."

"When you say 'tipsy'…?"

"Yeah… he's pretty wasted," James said.

James watched as McGonagall took both Sirius and Remus by their ears to lead them out of the hall to the amusement of the students.

He turned and walked back to his room. On the couch, Albus was stretched out and snoring slightly. James smiled at him and picked him up easily. For a man well over six feet tall and made of muscle, Albus was surprisingly light.

He walked to the fireplace and said the password to get to the Headmaster's private rooms. He stepped through and made his way to the bed. He laid the old man down on the bed and took off his boots. With a wave of his hand, the deep purple robes turned into deep purple pajamas. James pulled the blanket up to Albus' chin and smiled as the old man curled up.

Thinking ahead, James placed a bottle of hangover potion on the bedside table, and conjured a glass of water. If he knew anything about drinking, _and he did_, Albus was going to walk up feeling as if he had swallowed a rat. With one last shake of the head, James swept out of the room. He never saw Albus open and eye and watch him leave.

* * *

Around noon that day, James caught up with himself; for the first time that week, he was only in one place at one time. He walked briskly through the hospital that held Drake 'captive'. That man- so overdramatic.

Getting to the room he needed, he sat down next to the disgruntled man and smirked at him.

"I hear you did my surgery?" Drake asked.

"I did," replied James. "You have a beautiful small intestine, by the way."

"That's creepy on levels I don't want to contemplate, kid. Now, what is this I hear about you doing your own surgery?" demanded Drake, pointing a finger at him. James looked away and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"Of course I did. Did you think I was going to trust them with my health?" Drake shook his head.

"Thanks, kid. It's not every snot-nosed little twerp that'll give you an organ." James smiled at him and waved his thanks off.

"Listen, I have to go. But you and I are going to have a talk about renegade cop procedures, mister," James said with mock threat. Drake rolled his eyes.

James dearly wished he could stay, but Wilson's vitals had gone downhill since he had seen him last, and he was needed. James could not think of anything, magical or muggle, that could be affecting the man. James apparated into the men's room on the second floor of the hospital, and walked out into the hall of the diagnostic wing. He donned a white coat just as he ran into Foreman.

"Good, I found you. Something strange appeared on the MRI." James followed the doctor down the hall and into a room with lines walled with x-ray lights. He wondered what they were doing in there.

"Why-"

"We're hiding from House," Kutner said. "He's on the warpath. Apparently, someone stole his cane."

"Oops. Does he really _need_ that?" James deadpanned. They stared at him, stunned. "This abnormality with the MRI?"

"Yes, here it is. . ."

James walked into the office used to come up with diagnoses, and set his watch back several hours.

Something was weighing heavily on his mind. He went back to the hospital in New York to talk to Drake. Drake felt more interrogated than talked to, but that was a separate issue.

He stormed through the Great Hall and wondered if the students did anything but eat. He growled at Andron when he questioned the anger. Entering his room, he tore it apart in a fury.

Entering the hall again, he held two baseball bats. One aluminum bat and one ash wood. "What do you say, D-Day? Metal, or wood?" he practically snarled. Andron vaulted over the table after James and took the bats from him. James whirled around at him.

"Are you _completely_ off your nut? _What_ are you doing?" demanded Andron.

"Voluntary manslaughter. Now, metal, or wood?"

"Who are you murdering?"

"Andron, really now. Do you not understand mens rea? At this moment, it is voluntary manslaughter. You hold me here much longer, and it will be premeditated murder. Because he dies either way."

"Who dies, James?"

"The guy who shot Drake."

"Dude! Drake is alive and well! No need for revenge! Problem solved," Andron said.

James stood toe to toe with his friend and glared at him. "He's a rapist who happened to shoot my friend."

"Then shoot him in the stomach and be done with it! It's not worth destroying your life."

James looked at Andron for a moment, before he broke into a cold, feral smile. "Did I fail to mention that he has raped thirteen people this year, and his most recent victim was seven years old?"

Andron blew out a breath. "Oh, well that's a different matter then. For a moment there, I thought you'd lost your marbles." Andron paused and quickly examined the two bats. "Metal, I should think. Thirty-four ounces? Hot damn, are you killing an elephant?"

James grabbed the aluminum bat and walked out.

He walked up the steps of a run down apartment building two at a time. He entered the building and went up a few more flights of stairs. He kicked in a door and found the sole occupant sitting in front of a TV. The man jumped up when the door bounced off the wall with a clap like thunder. Terror spread across his bearded face as James raised the bat.

"Harry James Potter," a man in a black robe said commandingly, "you are hereby convicted of first degree murder, and sentenced to death by way of electrocution."

James found himself in an electric chair… He thought nothing odd about the situation.

As the switch was thrown, James screamed.

* * *

He looked around and did not see the drab walls of an execution room, but stone walls decorated in deep reds and gold. His breathing sped up until he was in danger of hyperventilating to death.

A hand on his left shoulder scared the last of his nerves out of him. He let out a yell and tried to twist away, but became tangled up in something. Before he knew it, arms were wrapped around him and someone was speaking softly into his ear.

It took him several minutes for him to calm down and realize it was his grandfather holding him. "Dear boy, what is the matter?" James looked around at the ornate bedroom and tried to piece together what had happened. He shifted to look at the older man, who looked concerned, and he let out a final deep breath.

"I was just convicted of murder. Good god, that was strange," James said. How did I get here?"

Albus stared at him with a worried expression. James looked around to reassure himself he was not in danger. "You were here when I woke up a few hours ago," the older man said.

"I was _positive_ I had left after I got you here," James said. He laid his head against his grandfather's chest and closed his eyes.

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think I just experienced a strange form of psychotic break. I just need to sleep more. New York doesn't use the death penalty… I don't know _what_ I was thinking." Exhausted from his panic attack, he fell asleep within a few moments.

Albus lay awake for several more minutes, trying to slow down his heart. James' scream had nearly scared the life out of him. He had awoken several hours earlier with a splitting headache and a mouth drier than the Sahara. He had found James stretched out to his right and a blessed bottle of hangover potion on the nightstand on the other side of him.

The potion took four minutes to work; Albus timed it. His headache went away, as did the dry mouth. He had laid back and smiled as James curled into his side.

He had fallen asleep just fine, but had woken up to the most frightening scenario imaginable. The sound of his grandson's scream reminded him of a different time in his life, when he had been kept prisoner by Grindelwald.

Eventually he fell back asleep; his last thoughts wondering what, exactly, a psychotic break was.

* * *

James walked into the Order meeting he had been asked to attend that night in the dungeon, and he saw Andron already sitting there and fiddling with his laptop. He walked up and shoved Andron, nearly out of his chair.

"Dude, what was that-"

"What is _with_ you, letting me go kill someone? Have you _no_ common sense? Christ, letting me just go off _murdering_ people…" James said, sitting down angrily next to Andron.

"What the _hell_ are you on about, Potter?" Andron demanded. "Who did you murder? Good god, Jaime, you're fucking crazy."

"So I've heard." James lit a cigarette without actually thinking about it. When the meeting started, Dumbledore stood and looked around the room calmly.

"As most of you know," he started, "the small muggle friendly village of Godric's Hallow was attacked by Death Eaters early this morning. Hogwarts just received words in the last three hours. Twenty-nine muggles and thirteen wizards were killed last night. One was a young boy bound to start at Hogwarts next year. Their deaths were… brutal. Some of you may also know that I was born in Godric's Hallow, as was my daughter, and both of my grandsons." Dumbledore looked around once more.

"Do you think he was trying to send a message?" Arthur Weasley asked.

"Forty-two slaughtered people is more than a message, Arthur. I believe it is a challenge. Voldemort has been quiet lately, since James melted the faces off of some of his most loyal supporters." Everyone turned to look at James, who was staring at the ceiling and lighting another cigarette.

"Was that the time with the acid?" Andron asked.

"Sure was," James replied distantly. He could not get over the dream he had experienced. At least, he dearly hoped it was a dream. It had been so real. He had heard the skull crack so distinctly and felt the blood hit his face. He could still smell the metallic tang of blood.

"James?" he heard Dumbledore ask.

"Yeah?" he noticed that the room was empty save for Dumbledore and himself. "Whoa."

"It's been almost a half an hour since you've made any indication you were actually in the same room as us," Dumbledore said with a small, concerned smile. James shook his head and stood up.

"I was thinking about that dream from earlier," James said.

"What dream?" James turned and saw that Andron had entered.

"I murdered the guy that shot Drake. Then I was executed in a state that doesn't do executions. And that never felt off at any time."

"That's pretty gifted, my friend. I once had a dream where I shot a skunk that turned out to be a muffin." James took a few moments to digest the fact that he was friends with the strangest person on Earth, before he nodded. "But, that didn't have any life altering meaning… except I haven't eaten a muffin since."

"What is bothering you so much about this dream, James," Dumbledore asked. "Aside, of course, from the obvious."

James looked at him without discernable expression. "Because I think that if what I dreamt was true, this man really did rape a seven-year-old… I'm not sure I wouldn't kill him." James swept from the room without further comment.

* * *

At the same moment, he was exiting Princeton-Plainsboro hospital, having diagnosed Wilson. A medicine he had taken for the flu had caused a strange, nearly unique allergic reaction. James was rather put out by the anti-climatic ending to that tale, but he promised to return to the hospital every so often to help them.

* * *

At the Navy Yard, James entered the office. He was glad that for once, and not in a dream, he was actually only in one place. His head was pounding from anxiety. He stepped out of the elevator and into the bullpen of the NCIS team headed by Jethro Gibbs.

"Honey, I'm home!" James yelled. Tony looked up from his desk and glared at him. "Well ain't you just a bundle of joy?"

He walked into the squad room and sat in Gibbs' chair. He took the lid off of the coffee he was holding and started drinking it. He enjoyed it mostly because it had come from Gibbs while his back was turned.

"Any leads on the case?" James asked. Ziva looked up from her desk for the first time since he had walked in.

"Three suspects," she said.

"Number three didn't do it," James said.

"Does that have any evidence behind it?" McGee demanded from his desk.

"No. It was completely arbitrary. I don't even know their astrological signs." The three agents shook their heads. Gibbs walked in, but stopped dead when he saw James in his chair.

"We warned him, Boss," Tony said with half a heart. Gibbs continued to glare at James, willing him to turn to dust and blow away. James, for his part, was distracted by Gibbs receiving an email.

"Ooh! Who is-" Gibbs bodily picked him up and dropped him on the other side of the desk. "Damn, boy. That was unnecessary, and I will repay the favor. Honestly. The violence is-"

"Boss! I got it! Private John March! He's shipping out in an hour!" Tony exclaimed.

"Gear up. Potter, you're driving." James shrugged and went to get the car.

Tony DiNozzo, Senior Field Agent, put much consideration into resigning during that car ride. James was a far less careful driver than Gibbs and Ziva put together. Tony made liberal use of the oh-shit bar, especially when the little car made it to ninety six miles an hour.

Ziva sat in between Tony and McGee, each hand clutching one of their knees. She looked quite out of her element, not being in control of the situation.

Poor McGee looked ready to vomit. He was also gripping the bar above the window, but his left hand was holding Ziva's arm tightly.

Gibb's looked like he was having fun.

"Potter! You may not realize this, but I started this sentence ten minutes ago. My voice is just now catching up!" Tony yelled sarcastically.

James turned around in his chair, leaving one hand on the wheel, and started talking to Tony.

"As the speed of sound, given normal conditions, is three hundred and forty three meters a second, your-" Tony accidentally tuned him out for a moment, and came back to hear, "-Square root of-" and he tuned him out again on purpose. When he went to say something, he heard James one last time, "-Density of-"

"Shut up!" Tony snapped. "And watch the road."

"Are you worried about something, Tony?" James asked, still not looking ahead.

"Stroller!" yelled Tony, pointing past James' head. A woman pushing a stroller was crossing the street, not knowing the danger approaching.

Without looking, James spun around, drove backwards for a moment, and then swung around again. He avoided the carriage and oncoming traffic by a meter, at most. He turned back to the road, and Tony saw his reflection in the rearview mirror. He was smirking.

"That was like magic," the teenager said. Tony's knee hurt terribly, and he looked own to see that Ziva's knuckles were white. She was muttering under her breath, and when Tony listened closely. He heard it was in a different language. Tony figured she was praying.

They arrived at their destination and stumbled out of the car. They took a moment to regain their equilibriums, before they turned to Gibbs. He signaled his commands, and all of them entered the building.

James, as was his luck, found John March first. "Private March," James said, leveling his gun, "put down your bag."

"What for?" a buddy of March's demanded.

"This is not for you to know, Private. Stand down."

"Who are you to give me orders?"

"Special Agent James Potter, United States Special Forces. I repeat, stand down."

"Aye, sir," they said as they backed away. Few in the military had not heard of James. He made sure of it.

"Put down the bag, March. I need you to come with me."

Gibbs showed up and stood next to James. "I haven't done anything," John March declared. "Nothing."

"You murdered Captain Lynch, March. We have the proof. Fingerprints and DNA, March. You can't get out of this," Gibbs said.

March pulled a gun and fired three shots at them, missing each time. He threw his bag at the other Privates standing there and took off. James catapulted after him, running as fast as he could.

More shots were fired at him as they ran, but none managed to hit. They finally ran out into the street, where James shortened the distance. A car stopped just short of hitting the running Private, which slowed him down a bit. James jumped onto the car hood, and off. He slammed into the man and took him to the ground.

"They _all_ think they can get away," James said. With a sudden struggle, James felt a blade plunged into his gut. "Haha, my kidney isn't there anymore, bitch."

James went back to NCIS headquarters at the Navy Yard, and sought out Doctor Mallard. "Know how to stitch, doctor?" James asked. Ducky turned around and stared at his blood soaked shirt for a moment.

"Oh dear," he said. He instructed James to sit on one of the steel autopsy tables.

"I could do it, but I've always been curious as to how they teach medicine at Edinburgh," James said. Ducky glanced at him for a moment.

"Oh? Tell, where did you learn medicine?"

"Just about everywhere. I wanted a broad education," James said.

"From what I have heard, you got one." Ducky paused for a moment. "What is this? These staples?"

"I took out my kidney. Staples are convenient."

"Were you in a hurry?" Ducky asked.

"Well, I had to get the kidney into another man. It was a hectic day."

"I can imagine."

* * *

James walked into the near empty squad room and sat down on McGee's desk. He took an apple out of his pocket and began eating it, ignoring the indignant Agent trying to work on his computer.

After sitting there for several minutes, James got an email on his phone. Andron was asking him about possible book titles. James wasn't sure Andron had even ever told him he was writing a book.

After a few moments, an official man in a suit walked in looking for James. He delivered a letter telling James that he did not have to remain at NCIS. He did not plan to stay any longer than he had to.

Ziva David was walking into the bullpen and talking with Abby Sciuto, discussing Abby's latest bedroom conquest.

Tony DiNozzo and Tim McGee were standing behind McGee's desk, which James had vacated, playing with the video camera on Tony's new phone. More like McGee was showing Tony how to use it.

Jenny Shepard and Jethro Gibbs walked toward his desk concentrating deeply on a file in Jenny's hand.

Smirking manically, James strode forward, grabbed the back of Gibbs' head, and kissed him passionately.

Ziva stopped and stared, while Abby let out a short shriek.

McGee dropped his cell phone, and it hit the desk before dropping to the floor. Tony let out a screech that had a higher pitch than Abby's, and he shoved half of his fist in his mouth.

Director Shepard stood frozen with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Gibbs himself had his hands raised in a sign of surrender, also with wide, disbelieving eyes.

After a good half minute, James pulled back without removing his hands from the back of the man's head, and said, "I trust you'll take this as my resignation?" he smirked and walked passed Gibbs and the Director, in the direction of the main elevator. He heard Gibbs behind him retching into a garbage can.

* * *

Smiling contentedly, James walked into the Great Hall, but he stopped in frustration when he saw students there. "Now I know, as a god given fact, that it is not a meal time right now!" James said.

"Depends on what country you're in, James," Dumbledore said sullenly.

"Apparently," Andron said, walking up to him, "some town or other was attacked, and the staff went gallivanting off in some King Arthur style crusade to stop the bad guys."

"That's cliché," James muttered. "What's with the cranky old man?"

"He's upset because his wife wouldn't let him go," Andron stage-whispered. "Rumor has it that he's in trouble for getting totally wasted the other night."

"I can hear you," Dumbledore said, "and I am _not_ a child."

"Is that why you're in time-out?" Andron asked innocently. To their credit, the students tried to hold in their laughter. It just did not work out so well for them. Sirius Potter laughed so hard he fell out of his chair and hit the ground.

"So, do you want to hear my amazing news?" James asked. At Andron's affirmative response, James continued. "I don't have to go back to NCIS."

"Why?" Andron asked.

He told Andron the story, and ended with, "Then I got a message on my phone that said if I ever showed up at the Navy Yard any way but in a body bag, they would make it look like an accident."

"Make what… Oh," Andron said. "Don't know why you didn't want to stay there, Cuz. That Israeli chick you described sounded hot."

"Perhaps. But Navy crimes do not interest me." James' cell phone rang, and he answered it when he saw who it was. "Catherine?"

She let out what sounded like a bellow, yet it was obviously composed of words. "Cath, I can't understand you. Enunciate." Giving up, James put the phone on speaker and held it away from his ear.

"Why is there a home pregnancy test on my daughter's floor?" Catherine thundered. Andron let out a feminine squeal and fainted in the most amusing way James had ever seen. He had thrown his hands up to face level and sort of twisted to the ground.

"Well, I can _certainly_ assure you I had nothing to do with _that_," James said. He toed Andron's limp form and wondered if he was going to have to shock him back to life.

"I want to talk to this little punk friend of yours, James. He is damn lucky he isn't a few months older, or I would have every cop in this city ready to haul his ass to prison. I wouldn't mind doing so _anyway_," Catherine seethed.

"I can have him at Guantanamo Bay in eight hours," James deadpanned.

"This is _not_ funny, James. I have been through too much in the last years to have a grandchild yet. Lindsey's father was shot to death in front of her, my father was shot to death in front of me, Lindsey was kidnapped and almost raped…" Catherine took a moment to calm herself, and then said, "I'd like to talk to your friend."

"Well, he fainted like a twelve year old girl, but I'll be sure to get him to you," James said. He hung up the phone and poked Andron. The other man opened one eye and looked at James.

"_Is she gone_?" he whispered.

"Christ, Andron, she's not Attila the Hun."

"Nah, man, she ain't. She's a mom, and they scarier than Attila the Hun and Bin Ladan all rolled up into one. My brother knocked a girl up once. She was fifteen and her mother was out for blood. She got it, too. She beat the hell out of my brother. They didn't even charge her with anything neither."

"Which brother are we talking about?"

"Malaki? Maybe, yes?" Andron looked confused for a second. "Nine brothers… I can't tell them apart anymore."

"Isn't Malaki in prison?" James asked.

"Yeah, for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and two counts of battery. Of course, that's what he did to the cops when they told him he was under arrest for robbing a bank."

"Sounds like a happy family," Draco Malfoy sneered.

"_Yeah_ it is." The two started walking toward their rooms.

"When does Malaki get out?" James asked.

"Oh, damn. I'm not sure. His oldest will be eighteen…" He counted on his fingers for a moment. "So, next year, I believe. Or was it next month?"

"Your family is worse than the Weasley's," the same blond said.

"That's enough, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said.

"Are you kidding? The only thing that could make it any worse was if they were _all_ like _him_." James really did not like the blond boy.

"Hey, I'm one in a million. That means that there are only six thousand people just like me. And none of them are the twenty-five people in my immediate family." James stared at Andron for a moment after his friend stopped speaking.

"Isn't it twenty-seven?" James asked.

"Um… maybe?" James' cell phone rang again, and he answered it. Eliot Stabler was on the line. "You need help? . . . With a pedophile? . . . Is his name Godfrey? . . . I can be there in ten minutes." Andron did not like the feral look James wore. As his best friend turned to leave, Andron grabbed his wrist.

"Is this they guy whose head you bashed in?" James nodded. "Are you sure you should put yourself in a situation where doing so in real life is a possibility?"

"Eliot… owes me a favor. If something… _unfortunate_… were to happen. . . ." James said as he walked away.

"I worry about that boy sometimes."

Several hours later, Andron was sitting with Albus in the Great Hall, barely paying attention to the students. His laptop was sitting on the table in front of him, and he was idling scrolling through a collection of videos.

"What is that you are doing?" Dumbledore asked.

Andron didn't look at him when he answered, "Looking at videos featuring James. He's done a lot of stupid shit, and most of it has been captured on camera. Here's him smashing his leg with a hammer when he was eight. I don't really remember why he did that. I remember he used to steal medical supplies from the hospital whenever he went, so that could be why. And here is James performing an autopsy on a squirrel when he was six. Ah, and here he is walking down the street and singing for no reason. Oh, this one's good. He was kicked out of the bookstore for putting all the bibles in the fiction section."

"He is a strange child," Albus muttered. Andron nodded.

"I think he gets it from you," Andron said.

"You may be right. He is smarter than I ever though of being, however," Albus admitted.

"And way more arrogant."

"Oh, I have my moments."

"Do you truly regret him being given up?" Andron asked. Dumbledore looked at him.

"I regret having raised my daughter to think it was okay to give up a son. I regret that my grandson grew up without a family. I regret that I did not get to see him grow up, and I regret that I did not try harder to at least make sure he was all right. Do I regret him being given up? In a way. Had he not been given up, he would not be the person he is today. He would have been overshadowed by his brother all of his life, and it would have driven him mad. Do I wish I could have raised him? Absolutely. Granted, I would have spoiled him rotten."

"James has been my best and only friend for twelve years. In the first years I knew him, he was just learning Occlumency. He went through this really _depressed_ phase when he found out the circumstances of him being put up for adoption. When he was three and transferred orphanages, he found a record written by James Michael Potter. It stated the reason and circumstance of the abandonment. Potter lied," Andron said simply.

"What did he say, exactly?" Albus asked.

"He said the family couldn't afford to raise him, and that they thought he would be better off with another family," Andron said.

"Couldn't afford…?" Dumbledore trailed off and looked down at the students for a few moments. "James Potter was born into the third wealthiest family in the magical world. Lily was born into the second wealthiest. I've never heard a more ridiculous claim in my life," the old man growled.

"And thus, James is pissed. If they just talked to James for a bit… he would be on his way to forgiving them. Strange, no?" Andron said.

Dumbledore shook his head and glared at nothing.

* * *

James walked into the large room that was home to New York's Special Victims Unit. Eliot Stabler and John Munch were at a corner to James' left looking at several screens that had pictures of victims displayed.

Fin Tutuola and Olivia Benson were at desks in the center of the room on phones writing on pads of paper. The Captain of the squad, Don Cragen, sat in his office, also on the phone. The Captain exited his office with a small bang and the clang of cheap blinds.

"Did someone call Potter?" he asked.

"No," James said, "you should get on that."

"It's good to see you again," the man said. He looked around. "Benson. Brief Potter," ordered Cragen. He turned and walked back into his office. Olivia motioned for James to sit in the desk opposite hers and hung up the phone.

"You know the guy. He shot Drake Herr. His MO includes luring women to his house, and then raping and murdering them. He usually uses a knife to kill them, but, as we've found out, he does own a gun."

"He's not afraid to use it. I take it he fled after being… found out, by Drake?" James asked.

"He did," Olivia said. She turned her computer monitor to face James. He saw a picture of a man with brown eyes and a sallow complexion. His lips were pulled back into a sneer.

"Well, now we know why he has to resort to rape."

"Thirteen victims in the last year," Elliot Stabler said when he walked over.

"Was the last one seven?" James asked with more than a little suspicion.

"She was," Fin Tutuola said darkly.

"That's an _odd_ coincidence."

* * *

As James spoke with the SVU detectives, he was also walking into the dreaded hospital in Seattle, where he had failed to sign a paper for Wilson's treatment. He saw House sitting behind Cuddy's desk, fiddling with something. James really didn't want to know. The doctor had his cane back; he must have found it in the urinal after all.

As he turned to leave, an armed man ushered several people into the Dean's office and locked the doors. James immediately rushed clinic patients out the main entrance. He stayed inside, however, and it wasn't another minute before Lisa Cuddy entered.

"Hello, Doctor Cuddy," James said. "I don't think you're going to have a good day at work today."

"What gave that away? The arrival of the SWAT team?" Cuddy snapped. "What is this? I run a hospital, not a bank. Second time in a year. The other robber wanted Viagra, of all things. You were here." Cuddy suddenly looked at him. "You've been here both times."

"Coincidence, I assure you." A few minutes later, SWAT did indeed arrive. He listened to their plans with something close to disbelief in his heart. "That will never work. Try getting someone in the room; someone who knows how to deal with bad situations. With no weapons, no listening devices, nothing."

Cuddy raised her hand and pointed to James. "Him!" she said.

"Why me?" James asked with interest.

"I trust you to not get those patients blown up."

"Shot."

"Whichever."

Ten minutes later found James standing in the entrance to Cuddy's office. He had never really noticed before, but there was a preliminary set of doors, and then another set of doors. James found that interesting. Obviously, they weren't for protection, because a psychotic gunman had taken over the office. . .

A gun was pointed at his head as he entered, and as soon as he was in, the door was slammed and he was patted down for weapons. "This is a stunning lack of respect for personal space." The gunman found his flask of vodka and stared at him.

"You're, what, eighteen?" he asked.

"I'm seventeen. Will you give that back? I get _bitchy_ without it." The flask was thrown back at him as the gunman leveled the gun at House.

* * *

Back in New York, James was chasing the suspect up a main street. Elliot was on the other side of the street, cut off by traffic. Olivia was behind him, having been hit by a slow moving taxi, but damn she was _moving_.

* * *

Andron watched in fascinated horror as his best friend was on the News. A national news network was showing videos of James mid-chase in New York, and in the middle of a hostage situation in Seattle.

"Son of a-" Andron found his yell silenced. Due to the threat of imminent death, the students were gathered in the Great Hall to sleep. He undid the charm and stared at the laptop screen. "He's going to get himself thrown in jail for the rest of eternity!"

"Who is?" Albus asked.

"James 'I-Shall-Defy-The-Laws-of-Physics-Just-Because'Potter," Andron replied. "The muggle news has him on camera at two different places at the same time. If this doesn't end his career, he won't be able to deny the presence of a supreme being."

"James is going to get himself in trouble," Albus said.

"Are you kidding? He's going to get himself lynched. Our government takes breeches of secrecy seriously." Andron began panicking as he continued to watch the news. "Oh my god, James is going to be held in prison for the rest of his life! What is this going to do to his career? They'll render them null and void! What of his assets? They'll repossess everything! This is terrible."

"Andron, breathe," Dumbledore ordered.

"How can I breathe when my best friend is going to be used as slave labor in prison?" Andron demanded.

"I doubt that would happen, Andron. Calm down, or I will put you to sleep."

"I am calm," Andron hissed. Dumbledore shook his head and looked skyward.

"You two are both impossible people."

"Shh! It's back on!"

A blond woman who had undergone some botox in her life popped onto the screen. She smiled plastically and read from an unseen teleprompter. A stylized logo for ZNN shone red in the bottom right corner. "Mystery surrounds the complex circumstances of one man being in two different cities across the country… at the same moment. James Potter, hailed as the modern renaissance man, is in Seattle and New York right now, according to news crews in both cities. Now we go to Joe Connor in Seattle. . ."

* * *

James dramatically threw himself down onto a couch that had been pulled into the middle of the room, away from the wall. Ink marked up the wall where House had written a list of symptoms. James looked them over without much interest.

"So. . . Has anyone noticed that there is a psycho man with a gun in the room?" James asked.

"Yes," House said, "but we were more focused on the _ill_ psycho with a gun, thanks. You know, the one actually threatening to kill us all."

"Are you calling me psycho?" James asked.

"Are you saying he has a gun?" the gunman asked. He varied between pointing the gun at James, and aiming it at House.

"I am calling him psycho. He stole my cane. As for the gun, I don't know. Lat time someone waved a gun in here, Potter here shot the poor bastard," House said.

"You're a dick, House," James snapped. "You are so not getting a Christmas card now."

"Are you quite alright, Potter?" House asked. "You're usually not so amusing."

"I'm having an off day."

"Hey! Can we get back to the problem at hand?" demanded the gunman.

"Needy little twat, aren't you?"

* * *

Andron looked up at the sky as he prayed for a merciful death. He was standing outside his childhood home, preparing to beg his mother's forgiveness. Andron was a strong man who rarely apologized sincerely.

But Andron's family was very important to him. And as someone very wise once said, 'If mama ain't happy, ain't no one happy'.

Andron wanted to be happy.

And alive. Living was his favorite part of life.

He walked up the narrow cement path, up to the one story, three bedroom house. The house was a mess, with broken windows and torn upholstery, cracked tiles and leaking faucets. James and Andron had offered to help finance a move for the family to a nicer neighborhood. Andron's mother had put her foot down. She had taken the house into her character. She loved it, for some god unknown reason.

"Andronekos, I see you out there, boy." Andron jumped at his mother's words and walked into the house.

"Mom, I can explain. . ."


	23. KKKilled

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

**KKKilled**

**Note:** The last part of the chapter can totally be explained by me saying I spent the weekend reading _A Time To Kill_. I came up with a way to end the story, so consider this an effective segue.

**Another note:** I have nothing against the South, and the views, comments, and beliefs in this chapter are solely those of the characters in the story. I do, however, have something against racists. They annoy me. A lot.

For anyone that ha an issue with my characterization of the South, take two momentes... or ten minutes... and go watch Top Gear's US special, in Alabama. Yeah...

** o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

James walked into the blissfully empty Great Hall, but didn't have time to consider the beauty of the situation. With a wave of his wand, the tables disappeared. With another complicated wave, the walls were covered in whiteboards. He took out his weapon of choice, a cherry scented dry erase marker, and attacked the board nearest him.

Andron woke very slowly, wondering what on earth had convinced him to visit his mother. The woman was frightening when she was happy, and she certainly hadn't been happy. The only one she seemed to like out of all of her children was James, and he wasn't even hers! If Andron had to sit through another lecture on why he should be more like his best friend, he was going to take a pipe and shove it _right_ up James'-

"Andron?" he heard James call. He looked up and saw James standing in the doorway, smiling the way he smiled when he was on to something, and Andron couldn't help smiling back. "Want to come help me?"

"Sure," Andron said. "I'll get dressed and meet you out there." James nodded and left the room. Andron practically waded through the books littering his floor, and he looked down when he saw something odd. Underneath one of the books was an object he recognized, but couldn't place. He picked it up and examined it closely. It had to belong to either one of his nephews, or one of his younger brothers. Unless, of course, James had reverted to the maturity level of a four year old, which was unlikely.

He took the lid off the container, and poked the contents experimentally. He smirked and grabbed it all out of the plastic container, and ran into the Great Hall. He found very few students in there, looking grumpy.

"James!" Andron called. James was standing to the left, near the Gryffindor Table. He was writing on a whiteboard with determination. "I've figured something out!" Andron ran up and smooshed the substance into James' hand. James stopped moving for a moment, before he slowly lifted his hand to examine it.

"What the hell is this?" James asked. From the look on his face, Andron figured James was likening the situation to Andron pissing on his hand. "And why is it sticky." It wasn't even a question. James had a singular talent for such things.

"That, my dear friend, is Floam. Tiny little foam balls held together by a sticky substance of some kind. A kids toy. Ingenious-"

"Mass spectrometers are ingenious. This? This is creepy," said James. He turned his hand over and the goop didn't move. "Who would give this to a child. I thought Furbies were bad. . ."

Andron shuddered violently and took the Floam from James. "Dude, hear me out. This pertains to lycanthropy."

"Oh, I see. You're going to cure it by smothering all werewolves to death with this… this… Dear god, you really just put Oompa Loompa shit in my hand, didn't you." Andron stared at his friend for several seconds. "Man, it is bright ass orange and I just gotta know."

"No. What? Dude, you're weird. See, here it is. . ." Andron continued talking.

Draco Malfoy watched the two boys across the hall converse over what appeared to be a pile of orange goo. The young James Potter was staring at his hand as if the substance was going regenerate there and bite his face off. His Master had ordered him to report anything strange the two men did. Draco did not fail to tell his lord that everything the two men did was strange, abnormal, and generally disrespectable.

He failed to mention that he kind of admired the two men. But that mattered little. He had a task to do. That night, Draco sent his memory of the morning to his father; wild gesticulations and all.

Andron raised his eyebrows expectantly. He continued to stare at James. "Well?" he demanded.

Without a word, James took his friend's hand and mashed the Floam into Andron's face, making sure to get some in his hair. "I think you're on crack. But it could work. We'll have to work on it."

Andron worked on removing the slimy goo from his eyebrows with an angry look. He sighed and said, "So, how did you get out of a huge fine for breeching Muggle security?"

James made a face. "Oh. I guess I should deal with that. No problem. I know a guy that owes me a favor."

"Who doesn't owe you a favor?"

"Viktor Von Dutch of Australia," James said without hesitation. He answered his phone when it rang. "James Potter…. Excuse me?... Yes, I designed it…. Two thousand…. I _do_ understand that the number I just said is over five times the speed of sound…." Andron raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I can sign off on that." James made the face Andron knew his friend always made when he was bullshitting. "I mean, I'm having some issues. I've got some legal trouble… you'll take care of that?... Yes, well, it would take more than that. You would have to make me a five star General of the Army."

Andron's jaw dropped. After another moment, James hung up. "Dude, what was that?"

"The government has dug out our old jet. They want it."

"Didn't we junk that?" Andron asked. They began walking out of the room.

"We just couldn't get it to go fast enough. Three thousand two hundred and eighteen kilometers an hour is not the air speed record. So disappointing," James said. His phone rang and he answered it again. "James Potter…. Not five star?... _Captain_? Are you _kidding_?... Hmm. There _is_ one way, I suppose. Well, no, I don't suppose you have the authority… Really?... You see, my friend's family seems to have some trouble with the law.... Yes, that is what I'm suggesting. The relatives of Andronekos Schwartz, Professor of Applied Mathematics at the University of California, Berkeley…. Immunity is a good word to use…. Expunge is another word I like…."

Albus Dumbledore was sitting at the staff table eating his breakfast of scrambled egg whites and rye toast with very little butter. James had fed Minerva some medical jargon about hereditary heart problems, and all of Albus' favorite foods had disappeared.

Speaking of his hellion of a grandchild, the boy walked by the staff table, picked up a piece of bacon, and continued going out. He was wearing a green one-piece suit and holding something.

"Hey, James, why are you wearing a g-suit?"

"So I don't pass out and die when I fly from DC to Hamburg and back. If all goes well, the whole trip should take me three hours."

"Intense," Andron said. "Don't die."

"That is my daily goal."

James loved flying. Not on a broom or in a normal plane. It had to be in something that would shatter the sound barrier. As he sat in his jet at a DC airfield, h realized this would be a good day. It was one in the morning. Tired looking men and women lined the area. A somewhat excited man gave him the go ahead to take off.

In the air, James did an excited barrel roll before he went off toward Scotland. He wondered how he was supposed to explain the jet to the armed forces. Sure… it would do two thousand. But James and Andron weren't wizards for nothing. With the ability to keep vital systems cool without cooling systems, and the use of a minor space enlargement charm on the… well, everything… left room for vital things. James' beer cooler, for instance.

Nearing Scotland, James pulled out his Bluetooth and called Andron. For reasons unexplainable, his left foot was cramping. Not both feet, just the left. He shook off the insanity of that and waited for his friend to answer his phone.

"Professor Schwartz," Andron said.

"Dude. _Dude_. _**Dude**_. Where are you?" James asked.

"The Dinner Place," he said. James rolled his eyes at Andron's reluctance to say, 'Great Hall'. In his mind, he could hear Andron say, '_They should have named it Smallish Huge Room with Weird Ceiling'_. Andron then asked him why he was calling.

"I'm about to be right over the school. Look at the Weird Ceiling in two seconds."

Andron stood in the middle of the hall and looked straight up. People stared at him, but he simply snapped. "I'm waiting for Ra to bless the Earth." James, on speaker, laughed. "I don't see you. . . Oh holy mother of Jesus." Andron watched as James flew directly over the hall. Andron could almost read the curly writing on the tail James had used to keep track of things he thought of while painting the jet. If it hadn't been going so damn fast, Andron would have seen the caricature of him that James had drawn.

"Minimum separation," James said. "You'll be hearing that in a moment."

"Where are you now?"

"Twenty miles passed Hogwarts," replied James. "I'm moving at thirty three and a third miles a minute. About half a mile a second."

"That's moving. How many beers have you had?" Andron asked.

The answer was interrupted by the sound of the jet overhead. The castle shook, a few windows broke, and Andron's teeth rattled.

"That kicked ass," James said. "I said six. But don't tell anyone. You're not supposed to drink in the twelve hours before a flight, let alone drink in flight. But government regulations are for losers."

"I think I cracked a tooth," Andron mutter Recruiter ed. "That was one sonic boom, you bastard. Did you really have to fly, like, eighteen inches over the ceiling?"

"It was essential. Darwinism, my friend. The students still alive after that are tough enough to wipe their own asses, so I might have just improved the future evolution of the Wizarding world," James said logically.

"A first year fainted."

"See, kill it and/or don't let it reproduce, and their _pansy_ genes won't enter the gene pool," James said.

"You know, Jamie, I think you take this evolution thing a little too far," Andron stated, checking the fainted first year's pulse.

"If you say Adam and Eve, I'll turn this thing around and drop a bottle of beer on you from a thousand feet. Crazy uber Christian. . ."

"Hey, look who's talking! You wouldn't believe in a god just to spite the fucking god you don't believe in."

"If I don't believe in it, I won't waste my time spiting it, Schwartz," James said. "I have better things to do with my life. Like- Ahhh! What's up Germany! Turning around then."

"You are not flying back over this castle!" Andron snapped.

"I am too," said an offended James. "I want to see if I can barrel roll around the towers, see…"

The end of lunch was signaled. Andron stood in the middle of the hall as students filed out around him. "I think you're the biggest bastard I've ever met in my life."

"Why, thank you, Andy, I- Ahh, bird!" James barked.

"Instant karma!"

"That's another religious thing, And. Still don't believe in it. Next you're going to be spouting bullshit about Judgment Day. Blow it out your-"

"Die in a fire, James," Andron snapped. He hung up the phone with a smile as he waved his hand to make the whiteboards reappear. He went to work on The Cure until James got back.

Near dinner time, Andron was liberally covered in ink and tapping the pen against his palm. He began humming and bouncing a little in rhythm. Before he knew it, he was fully tapping out the beat against his legs as he continued to stare at the equations on the board. Nothing about it made much sense outside of the world of genetics, so his specialty was a bit unneeded at that stage.

A noise at the doorway momentarily distracted him. Andron turned and saw six men standing there, glaring at him. He knew he had seen them before, but it took him a few moments to register where. Then a horrible realization hit him. They were a group of rednecks James had helped convict in Vegas, effectively ruining their vacation. Andron knew he was in a bad situation. A black man alone in a room with half a dozen white supremacists who were, in all likelihood, heavily armed was never good. Andron did not exactly feel safe.

"Hello," he said with a reasonable amount of calm, as he mentally thought of a way to get out of the situation. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he offered. The Wizarding World had never admitted to having a problem with racism. Because there was so little prejudice against muggles, however, many wizards had taken up some of their bigotry. Wizarding rascism against black people peaked in 1924, the same year it did with muggles. On top of the nearly four million muggles in the KKK, there were at least a hundred thousand wizards... a surpisingly high number, given the magical population.

One man hocked a brown loogie. Andron felt ready to vomit as he watched the man pulled a round container out of his back pocket, remove the cap, and pull out a chunk of chewing tobacco. Andron thanked god that whilst James smoked, he did not chew tobacco. Andron found it to be disgusting. Hiding he revulsion, he merely grimaced inside.

"You know James Potter?" the spitter asked in a deep Southern accent.

"We're acquainted," Andron said. The six men guffawed.

"Hey, lookie here, an educated porch monkey!" a twenty something man with a mullet said. Internally, Andron was ready to murder each of them, but then he realized he couldn't live with himself if he stooped to James' level. Nevertheless, he really was ready to kick all of them in the nads. Repeatedly.

"Weh-hell," a tall balding man, obviously the leader of the idiots, "ain't this a'something you don't git to see everyday."

"If you would please translate that into English, I shall endeavor to respond," said Andron. "I'm afraid they don't offer _Basics of Low Class Linguistics_ at Stanford."

"I feel mighty insulted, now," a boy of about sixteen said. He stood just shorter than Andron, but he was built for power, whereas James was built for speed and agility. "Insulted by a little black boy."

"I'm thinkin we should do somethin about this here nigger."

Andron raised an eyebrow, ready to fight his way through every last one of them. Without any warning, James pushed through the group while reading a book. He had his Bluetooth headset on, and was speaking rapidly.

"James, I think you'd like to meet our guests," Andron called. As James stopped and turned, a few students and teachers trickled in. "Why, it's your old friend, Billy Ray Hunter and his clan of inbreds."

James felt his spine straighten and his shoulders tighten. He was acutely aware of the presence of not only his twin, but most of the rest of his biological family as well. "Billy Ray," James rasped coldly. "Is this the same Billy Ray that raped and murdered the nine-year-old daughter of a killed American soldier?"

"The very one," his friend replied.

"The same Billy Ray I warned I would kill if I ever saw again?"

"Man, like, half his clan just ran out the door," Andron said. James spun around and, sure enough, there were only four men left. Billy Ray stood in the middle, smirking.

"Well, aren't you an arrogant son of a bitch," James snarled.

"I told you, Potter, that nobody cares when a colored girl gets killed."

"Hunter, Potter really is about to kick your ass while wearing some Dockers, you understand this, right?" Andron asked.

"What is going on here?" Dumbledore suddenly boomed. Not fazed in the slightest, James slowly advanced on the man. "Who are these people?"

"Rapists, murderers, neo-Nazi's, rednecks," James growled.

"Hey," Billy Ray snapped, "there ain't nothin wrong with bein a redneck. The South will rise again!"

"Bitch, the South should burn in hell for its atrocities!" snapped an aggravated James

"You damn rich-boy yank!" the man next to Billy Ray, named Bo, yelled.

"The Yankees are from New York, hick."

"That make you an Angel, James?" Andron asked, also slowly making his way to the men.

"Only so much as it makes you an Athletic."

"So, what do we do, James?" Andron asked.

"Well," James replied, "I have no problems with the other three, so they can run on off to the boondocks and continue to fuck their cousins all they want. Sadly, they will live to procreate and infect the world with their 'special' children."

"You are an amazingly prejudiced man," Andron said.

"These people actually make me rethink Darwinism," James ground out. "There is no way this breed could survive so long."

"Dude," Andron said, "I'm the one they hate, but I think you hate them more."

"Drake fought in the Civil War," James replied. "If you want prejudice, you should talk to him. Some rebel shot him in the leg."

"I didn't know that," Andron said in a tone that implied he should have known.

"Mm. His brothers were all killed. All thirteen of them. If he even hears a Southern drawl he starts firing."

"This is intrestin an all," Billy Ray spat, "but we got ourselves some business to tend to, don't we, fellers?"

"Oh, we certainly do, you sorry son of a bitch," Drake's voice boomed.

"How the hell did he get here?" Andron demanded. James looked at him briefly and smirked.

"Who do you think I was on the phone with? Told you he hates the drawl."

Drake walked between the rednecks and walked up to James. They shook hands and Drake turned to look at the three remaining men. He was bedecked in his full police sergeant uniform, including hat. "There seems to be a problem here. Any you fuckers related to a Colonel Tucker Davis?" Drake asked.

"Not on my mammas side," a tall dirty blond with a mullet said.

"The good Colonel killed at least five of my brothers in the Civil War. All five of them had fought in the war of 1812, and one of them fought against the lobsterbacks in the War for Independence. Seven more of my brothers were killed to free blacks and end slavery. Personally, I think we should let the South secede, because all of you just manage to make us look bad."

"The South will rise again, and all them niggers will be put back where they belong!" Billy Ray yelled. "My great granddaddy owned three hundred of them animals, and having to free em ruined my family!"

"I fought in Nam, you know. Fragged a Southern Lieutenant. He was all for military segregation."

"Dude, Drake, you were a General. Why didn't you just fire him?" Andron asked.

"Fucker needed to die. Just needed to die. You want to be a prejudiced little bitch, then you need to die. Got my chance, and I took it. Do it again, too," the old man said with a cold smirk. The rednecks growled. "Shut up, you little rebels."

"Make me, old man!" Billy Ray snapped. Drake stepped forward and cocked his fist, slamming it into the man's nose.

"I said shut up, you anarchist little bitch. You aren't in Alabama anymore."

"Mississippi," James said.

"Oh, even better. Hey, isn't the rebel flag a part of the state flag?" Drake asked. "I do so hate that flag."

"You nigger loving yankee," Billy Ray snarled, holding his spurting nose.

"He says that one more time, and I'm lynching him," Andron said calmly. "Hasn't anyone told you that only black people can say nigger?"

"Don't speak to me, you-"

In a blur of motion, James stabbed Billy Ray in the chest. "First, you rape and murder the only little girl of a man killed in action in Iraq, leaving that poor widow to bury both in the same year. Then you come here and insult my friend? That takes some big cujones. Or very little intelligence. I tend to lean toward the latter."

Billy Ray's brown eyes widened and he staggered back, an eight-inch hunting knife sticking out of his chest. "Praise Jesus," Andron muttered, his eyes wide.

James took the knife out of him and watched as blood poured down toward his waistline, James wiped the blade on his pants, leaving two streaks of crimson on the tan denim. Billy Ray hit the ground a moment later, dead. "That was fulfilling," James said in a strong voice. The two remaining men stared at him for a moment. One pulled a gun. Before he could do anything, Drake shot him in the head. He hit the ground as well.

The last glared in horror. "Yer a dead man, Potter. Billy Ray's uncle is the Grand Dragon of the Mississippi Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. Yer a dead man. You and all yer nigger friends."

James smiled charmingly and said, "Reading in between the lines, I know that that was a homosexual advance, and I just want you to know, I accept," James' voice had risen to a falsetto, and he struck the gayest pose anyone had ever witnessed. The redneck hightailed it out of the hall, gagging. James took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one casually. He toed the bloody body by his feet, and he sighed.

"Nice knife," Drake said. "Double bladed?"

"It sure is." James slid his foot under Bill Ray's abdomen and flipped him on his stomach. White fabric was hanging out of his back pocket. James bent down and picked it up. Unraveled, James fund himself to be holding a Klan mask. He threw it down on the body in disgust.

"You certainly do a great gay impression, James," Andron said.

"I spent most of my childhood in West Hollywood," James said by way of explanation. Andron nodded. "I should go visit. Haven't been there recently."

"Is the weather nice this time of year?"

"Better than it is here, certainly. Better than Oaktown? Definitely."

"What do we do with these two useless shits?" Drake asked.

Andron waved his wand, and the two were bound together, dressed as women, and wearing make-up. He dropped a Portkey on them, and they spun out of sight. "That was permanent, wasn't it?"

James looked at him and deadpanned, "Let's just say it'll be a closed casket funeral."


	24. She Was All Up In My Grill

**She Was All Up In My Grill!  
**Dedicated to my Beta's bike

AN: A complete list ofcharacters will be on my profile. When I redo this story Andron's family will be introduced in earlier chapters, and in smaller doses. Because, damn, I confused myself.

Thanks go to Iheartpiper, and Adari for this chapter.

* * *

Christmas morning found James drunk by breakfast. He stumbled into his bathroom and sorted out the last two weeks of his life as he held his face under the faucet.

He was sure he needed to slow down on the time-turner… but it just wasn't as fun that way. He got a lot less done that way. James decided to trim his beard and cut his hair. With all his stubble and wild hair, he looked a bit like a mountain man.

James walked into the Great Hall, and got his first glimpse of Christmas breakfast at Hogwarts. "James!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Sit and eat with us."

"Actually, I have to work today."

"You can't work on Christmas," McGonagall said sharply.

"Why should I change my schedule for a holiday I don't believe in?" asked James.

Andron emerged from their rooms, dressed up and smelling of Old Spice. "Time for my bi-annual trip to church. Any chance of you going with me, James?"

"Nope."

"Any chance of you breaking my arm?"

"Perhaps."

A sound of an explosion sent James to one knee, holding a gun in a defensive shooting position. His shoulders were tense and his eyes focused. On what, even he didn't know.

Andron had hit the ground stomach first. "That wasn't a gunshot, Andy."

"Shut up. When I hear noises, I don't stop to see if it's a gun or backfire, nuke or belch. If it sounds deadly, I hit the deck. You grew up at Quantico, I grew up in the ghetto."

"What the fuck was that sound?" James demanded.

"Hogsmeade is under attack," Dumbledore said. "Nobody leaves the castle. Teachers, guard all the entrances. James, Andron, stay in here with the students."

"Oh, no, I can't-" James was cut off as the door slammed behind the staff. "Oh shit. If these doors are locked, I'm going to be angry."

The doors were all locked. James couldn't even get back into his room.

"What are the teachers thinking?" demanded a girl that James vaguely remembered being a friend of his brother's. "Locking us in here with two psychopaths?"

"Sociopath, dear, sociopath," James said distractedly. "Now, how do I bust out of here? I'm expected in Frisco, Seattle, and Miami in the next twenty minutes."

"Oh? Is that why you're drinking your breakfast?" Andron asked. James pulled the bottle from his lips and smiled. "I see. We need to get out of here. If I miss Christmas, I won't live to see New Years. If there's one thing mama hates more than the white folk and atheists, its missin Christmas."

"Isn't that the… Andy, your mother married a white man and had fifteen children with him," James said, blinking.

Andron looked at him for a moment, tilting his head. "Now that I think about it, Dad is white."

"Dude, he's got blond hair, blue eyes, and a German accent. What the fuck did you think he was; Hispanic?" James asked.

"Well, it never really, you know, clicked. Now that I think about it, why does my mother hate the white folk? She likes you and Dad, in that order. Oh god, I'm so confused," Andron said.

"Um, weren't you trying to, you know," the girl sitting next to James' brother started, "to… bust out of here?"

"Right, must not get distracted. Are any of you allergic to any explosives, latex, or duct tape?" James looked around at the confused students. "Good. Well then, I'm going to teach you how to build a simple door opening bomb."

"Is that a good idea, James?" Andron asked. "I mean- Why the _hell_ do you carry C4 in your pocket?" he demanded.

James, striding toward the door, didn't even glance back as he answered, "Because it is socially awkward if a man carries a purse."

"But there is no stigma against a man carrying a plastic explosive in his pocket? What has the world come to?" Andron muttered. He followed James to the door and watched his friend work. "Are you sure that goes there?"

James was placing a detonator in a small chunk of the explosive. He looked at him in disbelief. "Do you want me to put it on the northernmost side?" he asked with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

"Well, I didn't specialize in destruction. The last time I blew something up on purpose… strangely enough, I was with you, and it was a chem classroom."

"Rethinking our friendship?" James asked distractedly.

"Are you kidding? I'm rethinking my _life_. Ready to go?"

"Just… one… moment…" he muttered.

Andron saw that the C4 looked like a child had rolled clay into a worm. James squished it in the minuscule gap between the two doors. The detonator was sticking out of it, but James slapped the back of Andron's head before he could make any dirty jokes.

"You know, you usually go for fancy and untraceable," Andron commented.

James, quickly walking away from the door, answered with his usual stunning logic. "How does one go about tracking C4? It explodes. Boom," James deadpanned. "They'll know that an explosive was used, because of the 2,3-dimethyl-2,3-dinitrobutane. Yes, I usually go with something amazingly flashy and hardcore, but C4 works in a tight spot."

"You can't blow that door up," James' brother said.

"Actually, I can. I've got the boom button in my hand, right here. If I were you, I would step back from the door, by the way, or you might die."

"Thanks for the warning," Sirius sarcastically commented. "You can't blow that door, because it's over a thousand years old, and grandfather will be pissed."

"Bitch shouldn't'a locked me up, then. I'm going to count to ten, now. One… two… ten!" James pushed the button and watched the small explosion as the doors opened violently, sending large splinters of wood in all direction. As a bonus, a few students screamed in surprise. "Sh_oo_t, duel PhD's and I forget how to count."

"The door is open," Sirius growled.

"Ha! Muggle technology trumps Wizard ignorance once more," said James. He looked around the hall for a moment before he walked out the door, closely followed by Andron.

"Great, I'm going to be late," they both said.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore walked into the castle some hours later to the sight of wood splinters and scorch marks. He drew his wand in an instant and carefully walked toward the Great Hall. He found several students talking and laughing, playing chess or Exploding Snap.

"What happened here?" he asked, looking to his grandson.

The young man glanced at him and only said, "James."

"Nark," James said, walking in behind Albus. The old Headmaster turned to look at his oldest grandson, who was smoking and talking on his mobile phone. James walked right by Albus without a glance. Andron followed him, and he looked quite sour.

As the two young men walked toward their chambers, Andron looked at Sirius and said, "Some people just don't understand snitches get stitches." He shoved James' shoulder. "And some people don't understand bros before hoes."

"You are my sixth priority in life, Andron. You come after working, drinking, smoking, sleeping, and eating. You are currently hindering one, three, and five."

"I'm feelin' the love, man, feelin' the love."

"What about my door?" Albus asked, staring between the door and James in disbelief.

"Oh. It got in my way. Damn, did I forget to mention that the detonation of that explosive causes poisonous fumes? Oh well."

James walked through the door that led to his rooms. Andron turned around, sighing with his eyes rolled to the ceiling. When he looked at Dumbledore, he said, "That crazy blackaphobic family is trying to press charges. Apparently, they don't like that the heir to their tobacco dynasty is now dead in drag."

Andron suddenly smiled, and Albus heard young James yell, "_Fuck_! Now I have to quit smoking! This day could only get worse if I was hit by a rock and became a hick."

"Merry fucking Christmas, James!" Andron yelled, turning into the hall and closing the door.

"Die in a fire!"

Albus sat down for breakfast quite early on Boxing Day. He had a terrible pain in his neck, and his hand had cramped from the amount of letters he'd written the night before. The only other professor in the hall was Remus, and he looked bone tired. A few students were awake as well.

The door behind him burst open, causing Albus to drop his fork and swear. James walked past the table, leaving a strong odor of alcohol.

"Did you bathe in whiskey, James?" Dumbledore demanded.

"No, but I drank a whole lot of it," James said. "Why can't I see?" he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Damn it, I lost my contacts."

"Is it safe for you to apparate in your condition?" asked Albus.

"I'd be more worried about apparating sober."

"Of course. Silly me."

Albus didn't see James for another week, and only then because Andron dragged the green-eyed man to a quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The two young men sat with the staff, dangerously close to Severus Snape, who disliked James for several reasons. Most importantly, for reasons unknown, the scars on Severus' arms, caused by James' dog, refused to go away. The Potions Master was sure James knew how to make the scars disappear, and he just wasn't sharing.

James and Andron seemed to be examining the match in a very unique way. "Ninety degrees, thirty feet, fifty feet," James said.

"Ninety-two degrees," Andron said with a jerkish shake of his head.

"No, he accelerated, look," James said, indicating with a nod.

"Right, he did."

"Ha, I was right."

"Are you ever not?"

James looked at him for a moment. "No."

Twenty minutes into the match, Remus asked what they were talking about. It was, apparently, an advanced way to pinpoint coordinates on the quidditch pitch. They were predicting places of collision.

"The first unit is the degree of the pitch. Ninety degrees is North, or Gryffindor goals. One hundred and eighty degrees is East. Two hundred and seventy degrees is South, or the Slytherin goals. Three hundred and sixty degrees is West. This makes a full circle. The second number is the distance on the ground from the exact center of the pitch. The third number is the elevation, relevant to the ground," Andron explained without taking his eyes from the pitch.

"Why," Sirius Black said, "can't you just point?"

"That is not precise enough," James answered.

"It's quidditch," Jim said. "Not rocket science."

"When you're playing, being a bit off is a pain. Right now, the snitch is at 56-23-11.358." Andron looked at Jim and continued, "Which is more helpful than saying 'over there'."

"Okay then," Jim said, craning to see the snitch.

"Rocket science isn't all that hard, by the way," Andron added calmly.

The game progressed for several minutes in relative silence, until James and Andron got into a discussion over whether or not the snitch's movements are random.

"Nothing is random," James stated.

"That is not true," Andron rebutted.

After ten minutes of such conversation, Severus turned and snapped, "Will you two shut up?"

"So long as I am conscious, there is very little chance," answered James. "I refuse to concede an argument."

"How gracious of you," sneered Severus.

"You're the same way, Severus," Remus said calmly.

"Moving on," James said. "The snitch works in cycles… Cycles? Cycles. Huh, how odd. . ."

James suddenly launched himself at the stairs. The sound of him banging and crashing down the wood staircase echoed back to the teachers. An instant later, he could be seen running across the pitch toward the castle.

"What the hell?" Sirius muttered. He seemed to share the sentiment with several of the students.

"The shortest distance between two points is a straight line," Andron supplied. He checked his watch and stood. "Excuse me; I have to give a lecture on computational mathematics." The man stood and left with much more grace than James.

When the students and professors entered the hall for dinner, ravenous, James and Andron were staring a wall that was covered in pieces of paper that were in turn covered in miniscule script. James had a red pen in hand and was circling seemingly at random.

"What is this?" Albus asked.

"The DNA of Remus Lupin."

Quite frankly, Albus was afraid to ask.

* * *

James sat in what appeared to be a studio type apartment in the Miami, facing two men and a fierce looking woman. "Listen," James said, "I can only do so much. Yes, I have worked for and with the CIA. I am not, however, much favored with that department."

The man seated directly across from him had dark hair and very serious eyes. "I only need to know who burned me," Michael Weston said calmly. "Can you do that?"

"I could do that with my eyes closed," James answered. He tilted his head slowly. "But you will owe me."

"Anything," the woman, Fiona Glennanne, said easily.

"Then it's a deal. You'll know on Friday." James left the apartment and apparated from Miami to Seattle.

Walking out of the bathroom he found himself in, James walked to the information desk of Seattle Grace Hospital. He found a rather new looking person and spoke to her. "Hello," he said smoothly. "I'm James Potter. I'm here to speak to the Chief of Surgery."

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. After she made a brief phone call, she directed him upstairs. James was met by a familiar man in his fifties, Richard Webber. He had dark skin and grey hair, and stood only a few inches shorter than James.

The Chief of Surgery held out his hand, and James shook it. "James Potter," the man said. "Good to see you again, and on such short notice. Lucky you were in Washington. Please, let's talk in my office."

James was led into an open, airy office that held a large desk. He sat and started the conversation. "You wanted to talk about your hospital?"

"Yes," the Chief said. The man seemed to shrink a bit, slumping in his seat more. "My hospital used to be a top three rated surgical hospital in the country. Now we're ranked twelve. Now we're a level II trauma center. I've got a senator here who needs a heart transplant… and none of my staff will dare to do the procedure."

"And, you want me to do it. Because if it works, you can claim the glory… and if it doesn't, you can claim that it wasn't one of your doctors." Webber's lips quirked, and he nodded. "I'd be happy to!"

After he left Seattle Grace, James took a side trip to Princeton-Plainsboro. When he walked in, the Dean of Medicine looked ready to dive under the nearest desk. Instead, she gave a small, forced smile and shook James' hand. "Mr. Potter," Lisa Cuddy said calmly. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I came to check up on House. I had to leave abruptly and I want to make sure he's okay."

Relief flooded her eyes instantly, and some of her professional pomp left in a breath. "You're not here to sue the hospital?" she asked.

"Nope. Just want to see House."

Cuddy gave a real smile and gave up the location of the ornery diagnostician. The office was had a glass wall front, and the door had House's name on it. James walked through the door without preamble and sat across the desk from House, who stared at him.

The middle aged man with blue eyes took a deep breath. "I didn't put the itching powder in your gloves. It was Kutner, I swear." James smirked at the obvious sarcastic undertone.

"I'm not here to kill you. I just wanted to know if you were alright. I pushed you pretty hard, you know, and you're not exactly young."

"I resent that," House said, trying to squash a spider on the wall with his cane. "Just because you are too young to shave doesn't make me old."

"Yet you still don't shave," James muttered. He looked about the office and then flung himself into the chair in the corner by the bookshelf. "What happened after I left?" he asked.

"Oh, you mean after you were shot and captured the bad guy at the same time? You do realize that this hospital seems to think you're some kind of a god-like Renaissance Man, right? It's creepy. I swear, some of the nurses were going to hold some sort of ancient voodoo ceremony to make you stay here permanently," House said, rolling his eyes.

James flexed his arms. "I am irresistible, you know," he said with a smirk. "Seriously, was everyone okay after I left?"

House looked at him for a moment. "You know, no matter how hard you try to convince people you're apathetic, anyone that looks close enough can see that it's not true."

"I could say the same for you," James replied. "Since everyone was obviously fine, I have to leave."

* * *

James walked into the Great Hall and found it full of shaking, fearful students. Several were crying, while others simply stared at walls. "James! Thank Merlin you're alive," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort just sent a Howler, threatening you, and everybody close to you. I've dispatched the Order to track down all of the people you've worked with recently, and bring them here. Hogwarts is being locked down."

"When you say _recently_…" James said.

"In the last month or so," Dumbledore answered the unfinished question. James winced.

"Oh, not good. Do you know how many people I work with in a month?"

Ignoring him, the old man continued. "We are also bringing in Andron's family, as they were attacked by Death Eaters today."

"And it was _AWESOME_!" a young voice yelled. "They had no idea what the fuck was going on! Ki bust out at them with a semi and took out three of them before they got in the door proper."

James turned around and saw Jamal looking quite excited. All of Andron's family was there. Jamal and Jamil, nine-year-old twins, stood next to Kareem and Kelse, fraternal twin thirteen years old. Behind them stood Luther, who was fifteen, and Alexis, who was sixteen. To their right was Abi and Adi, eleven year old twin boys. Further back, Anane, twenty-two, Terrel, twenty-eight, and Maleak, thirty stood.

A second later, the rest of the younger family members appeared. Tonya and Toya, twenty-eight, Malaki thirty-two were dropped by portkey into the Entrance Hall.

Even after _that_, Lars and Ida Schwartz appeared, being Andron's father and mother respectively. With them came the nieces and nephews. Malaki's two sons, Samuel and David stood off to the side, being the oldest grandchildren at seventeen and sixteen. Maleak's son, Tak, who was fourteen, stood by his sister, Adel, who was eight. Two their right was Tonya's son, Ajani, who was ten, with his brother, Akwetee, aged eight. Terrell's sons, Aristotle and Socrates, were six and nine.

Wondering why the world hated him, James turned to Andron, who looked just as surprised to see his family. "A, where did you come from, and B, what the hell?" James asked.

"I walked in right behind you," Andron said with a funny look at James. "As for, well, I don't know. Oh, man, this is bad."

"Andronekos! I haven't seen you since Christmas! What, are you too busy for your mother? I was in labor with you for twenty-six hours, young man! Someone had to push that fat head of yours out, and it wasn't Jesus, I'll tell you that! You were the worst birth, and I've had triplets! You were bound from womb to cause me problems, young man, so the least you could do is give your mother a hug!" Ida May Schwartz snapped.

Andron hugged his mother, giving a halfhearted, "Hi, Mom."

Ida turned to James with a critical eye. "You don't eat enough. And you drink too much, dear. But you look well. Have you been sleeping?" she asked warmly. Behind her back, most of her family rolled their eyes.

"Every ten days, on the dot," James replied with a confident nod.

Her reply was interrupted by a number of other portkeys arriving with large groups. A good number from the Las Vegas crime lab, quite a few LA FBI, a large group of doctors in scrubs, some Miami crime lab workers, five or six from the San Francisco and Santa Barbara police departments, a number of Manhattan SVU detectives, some Boston vigilantes, a burned spy and his two friends, and to James' horror, Washington NCIS agents. Along with them came a few random people as well.

Elliot Stabler, of Manhattan SVU, had apparently been with his wife and a few of his children. Catherine Willows, Vegas CSI, was standing next to her daughter, Lindsey. Shawn Spencer, head Psychic Detective for the SBPD, had dragged his father along, most unwillingly, apparently.

A moment later, Drake was right next to James, holding a scruffy looking kid by his shirt collar.

"Oh, shit," Drake said, slowly lowering the kid to the ground. "I think several people are a bit lost right now.

Most of the muggles were staring around them in confusion and fear. They looked to James, their common link, for an explanation. He shrugged. He was mentally looking for a pack of cigarettes, wondering where he had left his.

Albus Dumbledore stood up, calming most people even if they didn't know who he was. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said gently. "I apologize for your rather abrupt arrival. If you could all, perhaps, take a seat, I will explain why you are here." With the wave of a hand, the end of the hall behind the Gryffindor table expanded, and a fifth long table was added. "I assure you, this room is safe."

"Says he who just kidnapped us," Shawn Spencer muttered.

"I hear that," Gus replied.

Despite the uncertainty, everybody sat. Except Ida. She was not one to sit when told to sit. She told people to sit.

Ida stood with her left hand on her hip, most of her weight on her left foot, and her right hand slowly shaking at Albus.

"You must be Albus Dumbledore. Mm. I've heard of you. I am not impressed. I am not muggle, I know where I am. I also know what kind of people you are, and I am not impressed. I don't trust you, your family, or your people with my safety. Mostly your family, though," Ida said.

"I understand your reluctance to trust me," Dumbledore said genially, "however, I ask that you at least listen."

"I'll listen. If I disagree, my family and I-"

"We bounce," Malaki said. "Ain't no motherfucker that can't watch a kid can watch a school. I don't know what they fuck they was thinking, leaving a fucked up mother fucker in charge'a kids. That shit's crazy as hell. Just like white people, though. Crazy as hell."

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand what you just said," Dumbledore noted.

"Man, what, you stupid or something? I talk in plain ol' English!" Malaki snapped.

"He said," James cut it, "that the family will leave. A man that can not watch a child should not be left in charge of a school, and he can not understand who would leave a disturbed person around children. It's insane to think about."

Malaki nodded. "That's what I just said. These people truly is stupid."

"Oh, right," Dumbledore said smoothly. "Moving on, to our muggle guests, you have entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. This is a school of magic. You were brought here today due to a threat made upon your lives."

"Due to your accent," Don Cragen said, "I take it we're not in America."

"No, sorry, this castle is located in Scotland," Dumbledore answered. "You traveled here by Portkey, which is one of the various methods of transportation we use. For several years, a Dark Lord by the name of Voldemort has been terrorizing wizards and muggles alike here in Great Britain. He has made a special enemy of the family Potter."

The headmaster went on to explain about the first fall of the Dark Lord, about the Boy-Who-Lived, and James' return. "Oddly enough, the return of a genius son to his most hated rival sparked interest in Voldemort. James, being as… outgoing… as he is, managed to make himself Voldemort's enemy in his own right. As such, Voldemort has threatened to kill anyone James is in contact with, namely, all of you."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Shawn Spencer said, standing and raising his hands in front of him. He pointed at James. "Do _you_ mean to tell _me_ that… your name is Harry? _Really_? How lame is that? At least with James, you've got- _oomph_." Gus had pulled Shawn back down to his chair by his shirt.

"Please continue," the unwilling dark skinned accomplice said. James looked at the parallels between those to men, and himself and Andron. Creepy.

"I do not foresee that any of you will have to remain here for more than two weeks. You will, of course, be compensated for work missed," Albus said. He then introduced the staff and the four houses.

When the old man finished, Gregory House nodded slowly. "So… James is a wizard," he said with his usual speculation. "That's how you solved those cases."

"Even now, most healers are uncomfortable working with doctors. Therefore, many wizards brought to muggle hospitals simply die. It is not a reflection on the doctors; they have no way to know that a simple potion could cure the illness. I had to go so far as to have my dear friend hold the hospital up at gunpoint to treat a patient without you noticing."

"All for naught," Andron said glumly.

Suddenly, Jethro Gibbs slapped the back of Anthony DiNozzo's head. "Ow, boss, what was that for?"

"You knew," Gibbs accused.

"Well, being sent back in time is a bit of a give away. It was very _Back to the Future_, with a bit of _James Bond_ thrown in."

"Shut up, Tony," Ziva David calmly ordered. They started a quiet argument between themselves.

"So, we're trapped here until this uber bad guy happens to forget about us?" House asked.

"We have reason to believe that Voldemort will not be a threat to you after two weeks from now," Dumbledore said with a nod.

"Well, I have reason to believe that my cat is trying to kill me in my sleep; that doesn't make it true," Judge Elizabeth Donnelly said in her usual no nonsense manner. She had short, professional blond hair and a sharp face with severe eyes. She worked often with the Manhattan SVU, having been a District Attorney.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, I understand your concern. Cats can be vicious." Minerva McGonagall slapped Albus' arm rather hard. "You are proving my point, my dear."

It took three more hours to convince everybody in the room that everything was fine. In that time, James found out that he would not be able to leave the Great Hall until Voldemort was no longer a threat. Upon hearing that news, James almost led a mutinous action. He hated being in one place for more than a few hours; hence, his extensive trans-continental travels.

An hour before dinner would be served, James took his shrunken truck out of his pocket and tossed it at the corner next to the muggle's table, at the door end of the wall. When it landed, it returned to it's natural size.

"As reference, what else do you keep in your pockets?" Andron asked with mock curiosity. "Machine guns, space stations, the Library of Congress…?"

"Don't be ridiculous," James said robustly. "I keep the Library of Congress on my cell phone."

"Does that include the President's Secret Book?" DiNozzo asked. James chose to ignore him, to preserve his sanity. It seemed to be the best approach when dealing with the movie obsessed Agent.

James hopped into the bed of the truck and opened the toolbox, and managed to fish out a pack of cigarettes.

If there was one thing James hated more than dealing with people, it was dealing with people without smoking.

* * *

James looked around the hall, and felt his life had taken a horrible, horrible turn. Everything had gone all topsy-turvy, and nothing made sense. There was something wrong when two worlds could collide so spectacularly.

Catherine Willows from Vegas was talking to Meredith Grey from Seattle. Adrian Monk of San Francisco was conversing with Shawn Spencer of Santa Barbara. Nathan Ford of Boston was avoiding conversation with Don Eppes of Los Angeles.

James felt a headache forming, so he took eight aspirins and chased them with beer. "James, you're going to die," Andron said, leaning next to him against the truck.

"I think that is the positive alternative," James said. "Ever heard that you should always separate suspects so they can't corroborate? This is proof of that wisdom."

Andron laughed harshly and nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Half your crew looks like they want to arrest half my family," Andron said with a smirk.

"Potter!" Colby Granger snapped. "Did you really get these people immunity?"

"Why, yes, yes I did. It was hard as hell, I tell you. Got Malaki out of prison, that did."

"You got a convicted felon out of prison?" Colby asked.

"I got a convicted murderer out of prison. He didn't do it, though. It was a false conviction. My omnipotence tells me that I'm right, so do not argue." James lit a cigarette and fished through the driver's side window and grabbed a bottle of unlabeled alcohol and drained half of it.

"Holy crap, slow down, James," Andron said. "You're going to, like, rupture your throat, or something."

"Want a drink?"

"Hell yeah!" Lindsey Willows yelled, startling half the hall. "Crack a bottle for me, Potter!"

James hopped into the bed of the truck and opened the metal toolbox under the back window. He pulled out a bottle of German beer and tossed it to Andron, who smirked. He then pulled out pomegranate vodka and lobbed it at Lindsey, who opened it and took a large, unladylike sip.

"Oh, come on, hook me up, Potter!" Kathleen Stabler hollered, standing up.

"You still a vodka girl, too?" James asked.

"Got raspberry?" she asked, walking toward James.

"Ayeahduh," James said with his usual roguish cadence. "I've got just about everything."

"Hey, Kathleen, you can't drink until twenty-one, remember?" Elliot Stabler demanded.

"What country are you in, Dad?" Kathleen asked. "Get with it."

"Seventeen is legal age," Andron said with ease, opening his bottle of beer.

"That's ridiculous. The frontal lobe isn't fully developed until the mid-twenties," Gil Grissom stated. "Teenagers can't be expected to make reasonable decisions at seventeen."

"Excuse me?" Andron said. "Yeah, I may drink and whatnot, but I've never been arrested, or-"

"Whoa," Malaki said in his deep voice. "Andy… you were arrested in Mexico for sodomizing a mule."

"I was not! I was detained for questioning because a mule I happened to be around earlier that day began shit purple. But I never touched the damn thing; I detest animals," Andron said with heat.

"But the official reason was mule sodomy," Malaki said with a smirk.

Andron set at his oldest brother with a determined pace. "That's it, I'm knifing him!"

"Before you get all bloodthirsty and frankly pull a James," Malaki said, "you should look up."

Andron paused and looked at the ceiling. "Whuh…" His face paled and he yelled, "Holy shit! Time to bounce!"

The seventeen-year-old man in the oxford and dress pants jumped into the cab of James' truck through the window, then locked it all down. James turned and looked through the glass. "Are you cowering in _my_ truck?" he asked.

Andron's face appeared in the window, and everyone in the hall could hear him when he said, "Hell yeah, nigga. It's a full moon! I ain't about to get myself torn to shreds for _none_ of you!"

James turned and looked at Lindsey, then back to Andron. He glanced between them several times before he said, "You are a horrible person."

Andron's two youngest brothers slowly looked up to the ceiling, which revealed a setting sun. Remus Lupin was suddenly on his feet, looking panicked. "Let me out of here, Albus. Let me out of here, now."

"I can't," Dumbledore said with a look of mild distress.

"What do you mean you can't, you bloody-" Remus began to look very uncomfortable as he stood. Jamal and Jamil got similar looks on their faces. James was two steps away from jumping into his toolbox, when half of Andron's family beat him to it, slamming the lid.

As the sun was fully set and the moon was revealed, screams tore through the hall. The wretched sound of bones creaking and popping, rearranging as it caused skin to stretch almost to the point of ripping open filled the room. Several students and muggles screamed, none louder than Shawn Spencer. Gus feinted.

After five painful minutes, three werewolves stood in the room, looking around with vicious eyes. One was very large, over a hundred and fifty pounds of man eating power. The other two were smaller, younger, perhaps a hundred pounds.

The two small werewolves launched at each other and began fighting. The larger werewolf growled deeply and looked around for a target. Maleak, the second Schwartz son, stood and sneered, revealing two long, sharp canines. He ran at the Remus wolf and tackled him to the ground. A strange noise behind James caught his attention.

He turned and saw Andron eating popcorn in the truck cab. "Are. You. Kidding."

"Well, I may as well enjoy this."

James rolled his eyes and turned back to see Luther, Andron's fifteen-year-old brother, with his fangs exposed , wrestling with Jamal and Jamil, who were intent upon tearing each other apart.

"What kind of a family are you?" Draco Malfoy yelled, being the most arrogant student in the school. "Vampires, werewolves… you're all crazy!"

"Excuse me?" Ida May Schwartz snapped. "I'll have you know that I love my children no matter what they happen to be. And that's the kind of family I run. My two werewolf sons are going to be the first werewolves in professional baseball."

"Unless, of course, James gets around to finding the cure," Andron said through the glass.

Ida looked at Andron and said, "Who is the one cowering in a car?"

"No, see, I'm not cowering. I'm looking for my keys. I dropped them. I'll go back to looking."

"Of course," James said without conviction.

One of the two werewolf cubs broke away and leapt at Malfoy, moving over three tables with frightening speed, causing the pompous blond to scream. James ran toward them right before the wolf collided with the student. He took the wolf by the scruff of the neck and turned to grab the squirming cub's twin, who had followed. When he had both of them, he let out a yell of rage and finished with a thundered, "Calm down!"

Cowed, the two cubs dropped from his grip and ran to hide under the truck, whimpering. Luther had turned on Malfoy, smirking evilly. His fangs glinted in a strange horror film type of way.

"You look like you find yourself fascinating," Luther drawled. "Pureblood, are you not? I wonder if it tastes better than muggle blood." In a flashed, Luther had clamped to Draco's neck. He stayed there for only a second, before he pulled away with blood running down his chin, looking disgusted. "Ugh, I can taste the inbreeding that led to you. How closely are your mother and father related, anyway?"

"Narcissa Black was Lucius Malfoy's second cousin once removed," James sad swiftly. "Good thing you're not mature enough to actually turn him, Luther. The Malfoy's could sue you for your Jordan's."

Luther looked down at his feet in horror, before he looked up with a grin. "I'm still the best accessorized vampire on all seven continents."

Before anyone could wonder too deeply on that fact, the Lupin wolf let out a roar of rage, flinging Maleak away from him. The enraged werewolf charged at James, leaving little doubt as to his intentions. Dumbledore was on his feet, attempting to hinder the wolf, but magic had little effect on werewolves, especially full grown wolves.

The impact knocked the wind out of him. James' quick reaction of punching the wolf in the throat was the only thing that saved him from immediately becoming dinner. Then again, it did nothing to calm the wolf. Not one bit.

A sharp clawed paw dragged across James' face and torso, drawing blood to emit at rapid, alarming rates. Quite outside of his character, James sent a prayer to Andron's god, thanking him for the fact that his eyes had both been spared.

The shock of being clawed wore off quickly, leaving James quite enraged himself. He fought back ferociously, avoiding teeth and some of the claws. His gut instinct was to kill, destroy, slaughter. However, if Remus died… James would have no one to use as a test subject. Then he would be sad.

A large black dog slammed into the wolf, taking an arm in its mouth. The wolf yelped and James stood. Bleeding heavily, James stood, actually feeling a bit faint. Not that his dignity would allow him to faint.

James casts five successive rope binding spells at the wolf, effectively binding him. James glared at the prone, panting wolf. "You are so lucky I need you, or I would relieve you of your head right now."

Deciding to hold off on the beheading, James climbed into the truck bed and opened the tool box, only to find nine Schwartz's flood out. When they exited, James bent to retrieve his medicine bag.

"Okay, James, we don't want to sound judgmental or anything," Malaki said, startling James with his eloquence, "but… why is there a dead body in your toolbox?"

* * *

So, thanks for sticking with me through my, like, five month dry spell. A long series of unfortunate events led to inability to write. Grr, and whatnot. But, I have started something like eight new stories recently.

If it makes anyone feel better, I think this is the longest chapter yet, at 23 pages. Whoo.

Somewhere in my sleep deprived mind, I added Burn Notice, CSI Miami, and Leverage. I don't even like the first two. What the hell?

ChipmonkOnSpeed

* * *


	25. I'm A Platypus

**Prodigy  
Chapter 25: I'm A Platypus**

So, the beta had this for a week, and never sent it back to me. Once she goes over it, I'll repost the chapter... but I had to post it, or I'd blow up. This originally had a totally different ending, but I changed my mind. Hope it didn't come out choppily. At over 14,000 words, you better like it.

* * *

**Jan. 5, 2008**

* * *

_"Okay, James, we don't want to sound judgmental or anything," Malaki said, startling James with his eloquence, "but… why is there a dead body in your toolbox?"_

James glanced at them for a second before he continued with finding bandages and… where'd it go… yes, his staple gun. James rummaged around for another second and found duct tape. "What in the name of Jesus are you doing?" Ida May demanded.

"Nothing. But in the name of James, I'm providing critical first aid." In less than a minute, the gashes on his chest and abdomen were stapled and covered in cloth, which was adhered with duct tape. Before he could think of anything to do for his face, Andron poured a healing potion on him. "I hate you," James said blankly.

"You are so against magical treatment," Andron said with a huff. "One day it'll kill you. That wasn't even a _medical_ stapler. It was an industrial uber powerful one. Nutcase. So, on to more important matters. How did half my family fit in your toolbox?" James shot a look at his friend, whose head was poking out of the back window of the truck.

"Where were you Thanksgiving?" demanded Kelse, who tended to act a lot like her mother, Ida May. "James explained that his toolbox is bigger inside than outside."

"Thanksgiving? I was cooking!" Andron said defensively.

By then, Lindsey and Kathleen were sharing drink recipes, leaving their parents shocked and appalled.

Sirius Potter, however, cornered the market on shock.

"How did you bind him, when_ Albus Dumbledore_ couldn't?" the other Potter twin asked.

"Simple," James replied. "Dumbledore, like a _punk_, tried to use a rope charm one would use on a human. A werewolf is much stronger than a human, and therefore needs to be restrained differently."

"So what did you do?" Sirius demanded.

"The same charm used on out-of-control bulls at the rodeo," James answered with a shrug.

"You've been to a rodeo?" Andron asked. He sounded very skeptical, probably with good reason. James disliked most animals, being outside, and anything that did not happen for the sake of academia.

"Yes, Andy, oddly enough, I ventured out of my cave and went outside."

"You haven't answered my question, James," Malaki reminded with a bit of impatience.

"That is because it was a ridiculous, stupid question not worth answering."

"I thought there was no such thing as stupid questions," Andron said with a smirk. James glared at him briefly from his position of kneeling in front of the toolbox.

"That was a stupid question."

"That wasn't a question, it was a comment."

"Then it was a stupid comment." James sent a healing spell at Malfoy to rid the blond of any blemishes that Luther might have caused. He really didn't care that healing spells on Vampire bites stung a lot. Malfoy's feminine squeak was thanks enough.

Drake's voice carried over all of the chatter when he said, "Marvin is in your toolbox, isn't he?"

James smirked at the old man. "Marvin _is_ in my toolbox. Sometimes you just need to do some killing."

Drake's laugh shocked most. "Isn't that what I told you twelve years ago? Murder is therapeutic."

"He was _five_ twelve years ago!" Lily Potter snapped with uncharacteristic ferocity. Not that most in the hall knew it was uncharacteristic. The muggles simply decided she was an angry woman.

"Twelve years ago, I found out that James Potter is the sharpest shot in the west. Ten years ago I found out he won a national youth marksmanship competition; he was the youngest competitor by three years! When James was ten, I took him to a Basic Training camp for Special Ops Marines… meaning they're wizards. He beat all of them in marksmanship!"

"Stop, Drake, you're going to make me blush," James said evenly.

Andron snorted. "Oh, _please_. An emotional response besides anger? What next, am I going to find out you can cry, too?"

James glared at his friend. "I am quite capable of crying, Andy."

His friend merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? When was the last time you cried?"

Thinking deeply, James continued looking through the toolbox. "Oh. Mark, my doctor, decided to be an ass and hacked the Harvard database. He did some digging, and a week letter, I got a bill for my tuition and the like. Of course, it was over two hundred thousand dollars. He was just finishing med school at the time, so I sent him a letter that he had been kicked out."

"Dude, yer a beast. What did he do?" Andron asked.

"Stormed the dean's office and almost smashed his desk… which was an antique from the civil war," James said. He found the bottle he was looking for a moment later and hopped out of the bed of the truck.

Walking over to the prone werewolf, James kicked him onto his back and knelt down, pinning the wolf's chest with his knee. Prying open the jaw was no problem, as it continued snarling and snapping. Keeping it open was an altogether different problem. James took great care to avoid the sharp teeth as he poured some of the thick potion down the wolf's throat. The dog near the wolf growled, and his eyes flashed, but he let James finish.

Within moments, the wolf calmed dramatically. James checked his vitals, making sure his pulse and respiration were normal. When they turned out to be fine, James stood and looked to Andron, who looked curious.

"At some point, I forget when, I found that this solution," he said, indicating the bottle in his hand, "sedates a werewolf. Weird, no? Considering it's a mix of rum, yogurt, and something else."

"How…" Andron asked, drawing the word out, "the fuck did this come about?"

"I cleaned my refrigerator, I think, and the mentioned ingredients had pooled on one of the shelves. Don't ask. It was nasty."

"Who's Marvin?" Malaki demanded in a fairly petulant voice, completely negating his gangster look.

James opened his toolbox with a wave of his hand and summoned Marvin. Something appearing to be a man landed next to James. It leapt up on two feet and smiled benignly. James pulled a gun and shot it in the head.

"This is Marvin. It is an autonomic, artificial representation of human life, designed by the armed forces to simulate a real world kill or be killed situation," James replied. As he spoke, the 'man' rose from the ground and stood next to him once more, smiling contentedly. "It looks real, sounds real, acts real, bleeds realistically, and even screams realistically. Do to its being a magical entity, it can change shape to user specifications, or factory preset images."

"You sound," Andron said haughtily, "like a commercial. Are you hawking Marvins on the black market?"

"I gave the sales pitch at the original meeting six years ago. I was a member of the original design crew. I might also get ten percent of all profits. Not that that has anything to do with me peddling them," James said.

"That," Shawn Spencer said, "is the creepiest thing, like, ever. You just shot him in the head."

"Technically, Marvin is neither male nor female (lack of genitalia) and can assume the appearance of both genders. It can also become Mary," said James.

When James finished, Marvin morphed into more feminine characteristics. Its hair lengthened and features softened dramatically. "Why would it have to do that?" Olivia Benson asked.

"Because," Drake began in his rough Bronx accent, "the magical army recruits evenly between male and female. We want to rid the soldiers of their natural tendency to go soft when it comes to women."

Andron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they want the guys to go hard when they see women."

"That was totally unnecessary," James said. "Women are just as deadly as men, and as such, should not receive any merciful treatment when encountered in combat."

"Damn straight," Drake said with a nod. "Any motherfucker that tries to kill me is going to get his head blown off."

"You would really kill a woman?" Derrick 'McDreamy' Shepherd asked from down the table. He was still wearing his dark blue surgical scrubs and a white coat.

"Kid, if a seven-year-old ran at me with the intent of ending my life, I'd stab him in the heart. Between me and him, hell yeah I'd choose me!" James said. "I have priorities."

"As convoluted as they are…" Andron muttered. The room lulled into silence for a few moments as James stored Marvin away once more.

"What are we going to do while we're here?" Amita Ramanujan asked from her seat beside Charlie Eppes.

Andron, apparently feeling more cheerful than usual, answered, "Ever tried knitting?"

The blank look he got from the woman pretty much summed up the answer. "I am a tenured professor, with a doctorate in computational mathematics, and another in astrophysics. I am an expert on asymptotic combinatorics. I was the 2006 recipient of the Milton Prize."

"Gus almost won a spelling bee, once," Shawn Spencer said candidly. A hearty thumping sound was heard as Gus punched Shawn's arm.

"I only lost because you sabotaged me." The darker skinned man looked to Amita with a wide, charming smile. "Please, continue."

"I get it!" Andron exclaimed before Amita could continue. "You, my friend, are a gamer!"

Amita smiled. "Exactly."

"What she really means is that she can't knit for-"

"Charlie!" Amita said, slapping his arm.

"What game do you play?" Andron asked.

And they were off, talking about Primacy, and other such nerd stuff. "James used to be a gamer, but he gave up all the fun stuff in his life," Andron said once he was sure James was caught up in a conversation with several other people and could not hear what was being said.

Amita raised an eyebrow. "James used to play video games?" she asked. "He seems the type to not want to waste the time."

"Oh, James used to be fun. Until we went to college, James was pretty much normal. Except, of course, the dissecting small animals and being an Elite class sniper thing. Something happened when he got his first serious job, though, when he was thirteen. His life became all work, work, work. And beer."

"Weird," Amita said. "Maybe, like Charlie, he'll loosen up as he gets older."

Leaning in, Megan Reeves, a psychologist on Don Eppe's team, said, "James is having a hard time reconciling his animosity toward his family with the rest of the world. He had an early traumatic experience that he remembers, so he is bitter toward most people. When he was young, this worked for him and he maneuvered around it. As he's grown older and been around more people, he's realizing that not everybody is trying to hurt him. He doesn't know how to react to that, so he has pushed everybody away."

"So…" Andron said, "you mean he was nice to people when he didn't like them, but now that he's liking them more, he's mean to them?"

"Essentially," Megan said. "When I first met James, I almost considered thinking of him as a sociopath. He was irresistibly charming, witty, aggressive, and showed no remorse for anyone's pain, whether he caused it or not. However, he was not eighteen, and that is a requirement of the diagnosis. I am, however, glad that I hesitated. Having seen him more, I'd say he's not socially gifted, and he never had an adult to tell him how to interact properly with people."

"I see," Andron said. "Um, so, James is a complete quack. Is it treatable?"

"No," George Huang of Manhattan SVU said.

"Oh, yes there is," Jethro Gibbs of NCIS said. He was sitting a few feet from them, obviously listening in. "Shoot him in the head."

"You're just mad because he kissed you," Andron said.

"Are you serious?" Catherine Willows asked. "You mean I've been trying to set him up with the wrong sort this whole time?"

"I dunno. Hey! James! Are you gay?" Andron yelled. Conversation in the area stopped. Half the people in the hall stopped breathing.

"That depends," James said without even turning around. His head as bent over a pile of papers that he held as he spoke with Drake. "Has Leroy come to his senses?"

"Who is Leroy?" asked Andron.

"Me," Gibbs replied. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"That's unfortunate." Andron turned and yelled to James, "No, I'm afraid he hasn't changed his mind."

"That's a shame."

Catherine sat quietly for a moment with a thoughtful expression. "I know a bartender…" Within seconds, Catherine was caught up in conversation with a woman named Abby Sciuto, about what men would best suit James.

Andron ignored them to the best of his abilities. Girls are just weird.

A few hours passed, in which most people debated what would be done with the hostages, as James called them. Since, thank to Dumbledore, nobody could enter or exit the hall, all several hundred of them were trapped there.

"What kind of bullshit idea was this, anyway?" James asked Dumbledore.

"It is a natural defense employed by the castle, set up by the Founders over a thousand years ago. The castle is defending her occupants as best she can."

"I did not need five years of architecture classes to tell me that this castle is some _stone and concrete_," Andron said. "How are you going to tell me that the castle is pulling this bullshit?"

"Over the last thousand years Hogwarts has soaked up magic from the students in residence. Ambient magic, so to speak. Hogwarts is nearly sentient. She fears for the welfare of the students," the aged Headmaster said.

"And… she told you this?" James asked, sitting on the table.

"I am connected to the castle through the wards. I can sense the general feeling of the castle. It is how I know if a student is in danger, or up to something less than legal. Right now, this is the safest room in the world."

"Aside, you know, from the werewolves, vampires, and murderous teen," Andron said smoothly. "In fact, I think I'd rather be in a KKK meeting."

"What about our families?" Ron Weasley asked.

"Aurors are currently looking for your family, Mr. Weasley, to bring them here. Yours as well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.

"What about the rest of us?" a young Ravenclaw snapped. "I'd rather be with my family than locked up with Dark creatures and him," the boy said, jerking his thumb toward James.

"None of your families have declared allegiance to the light, and therefore, I can not take the risk of bringing them into the school," Dumbledore said firmly.

"That's ridiculous!" a seventh year Ravenclaw girl snapped. "You mean our families suffer because they did not swear allegiance to _you_! I notice that your family is safely tucked away; the cold bitch, the angry twit, the nine-year-old in a man's body, the whiny bastard, and the murderer."

"She's got you there, Albus," James said with a nod. "And you can't do shit about it."

"I am not a cold bitch," McGonagall said angrily. Her lips had thinned and her eyebrows were drawn together.

"Yes, yes you are."

"Yeah, she's right."

"Well, you're not the nicest person."

"That is quite enough," Dumbledore snapped. He looked around the hall with fire in his eyes. "This may not be an ideal situation, but this is still a school. Your school. That woman you just insulted could just ruin your lives."

"It happens," Andron said with a nod. "I had a teacher once… fucked me up. Asshole gave me a B. Still haven't forgiven him."

"What class was that?" James asked.

"Socio-political climate of pre-colonial India," Andron replied through gritted teeth.

"Whoa, man, how did you get a _B_ in that class?"

"Don't ask."

"I'll find out. Now, about this sleeping situation."

Dumbledore, still looking about the room angrily, looked to James suddenly. "Do you have a problem with the floor?" he asked, obviously attempting to be calm.

"Well, I can think of four or five people here who do. Enter Gregory House," James said.

"I'm a cripple," House said. "The floor doesn't exactly work for me."

"Any other ideas?" James asked. He was a bit bored, and was having a hard time finding a cigarette. He was sure he had put a full pack in his pocket, but… _Andron_. "Give me my cigarettes, or I castrate you."

"Shh!" Andron said. "The old man is speaking."

"I could conjure beds, but not of the highest quality. Will that do?" the old man asked.

"I'm sure it will," replied James.

"Of course it works for James," Gill Grissom said. "You don't sleep."

James gave the man a winning smile. "Exactly. Now, on to other matters. Bathrooms, food, things of that nature."

"There is a bathroom in this room," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the hardly- noticeable door to his left, adjacent to the door that led to James' and Andron's rooms. "The house elves are still in residence in the kitchen, so food will be delivered as always. My apologies if the food is not up to your extraordinary standards, James, but tough times. . ."

"Fine, fine. I'll manage. Somehow. What time is it now? It's midnight. Wonderful," James said as he looked at his watch. "Andron, what do we do with the werewolves?" he asked.

Andron looked toward his two youngest brothers, who could be heard under James' truck, presumably still hiding from the frightening man that yelled at them. James looked to the bound wolf in front of the door. A big black dog was curled up next to the prone wolf, gazing about protectively.

"We should check the boys for injuries. Leave the other guy alone. He's cool until morning, at least," Andron said.

James lit another cigarette as he dropped to the ground and grabbed the two werewolves under his truck. Both of them were covered in blood from their fight, and one had a large gash along the side of his head, quite near his ear.

The other had a scratch down its midsection. Various other nicks and cuts abounded, but none as serious.

"They'll last till morning, as well, don't you think?" asked Andron.

"Certainly. Any stitches they're given now will tear open when they turn back."

"Which would be bad. Now, Dumbledore, about those beds? Some of us are tired." Andron gestured down the fifth table to Dickie and Lizzie Stabler, who, sitting between their parents, were dozing heavily. All around the hall, the younger students were sleeping with their heads on the tables. Except the ones closest to Lupin, who despite being knocked out, bound, and drunk, was still a werewolf.

"Right. If everyone could stand?" Dumbledore asked. As everyone did so, the five tables turned into hundreds of cots, each with a pillow and blanket.

Within the hour, the lights were off and most everyone was asleep. James, Andron, and Charlie Eppes were noticeable exceptions. They were huddled around a blackboard that James had attached to the wall to the left of the entrance, near his truck.

"I'm no scientist," Charlie said quietly. "I _can_ tell you that the math is sound. I'm not sure about the actually biology, and it doesn't help that I just found out about werewolves today," the professor said with a small smile.

He was standing with his right hand on his chin, his index finger crossing his lips, and his left hand supporting his right elbow, a stance James had come to recognize as "Charlie Thinking". Shorter than the other two men, Charlie was looking up at them, mostly though his hair, which was longish and curly.

"Thanks, professor," James said, clapping him on the back. "So, you think this will work?"

"It's very possible," replied Charlie.

"We'll have to talk to some of the sciency people," Andron said. James nodded as the three of them continued to look at the blackboard.

It was covered in chalk. Miniscule writing was scrawled in every available inch. Barely legible numbers and symbols chased each other around the board, in a sequence only a genius could understand.

Charlie went to sleep, leaving James and Andron to work through the night, until the first people began waking at six.

"Have you slept at all, James, Andron?" Dumbledore asked as he quietly approached them.

"Nope," the two teens said calmly.

"But we're startlingly close to a discovery, here. We just need to run it by Warner, Mallard, House, Fleinhardt, and Sciuto," said James. "When does the sun rise?" he asked Andron.

Andron raised an eyebrow. "Oh, let me pull my star chart out of my ass!" he hissed. Checking his watch, which had a digital read out of sunrise and sunset, he said, "Eighty-one minutes."

"Exceptional." James walked around and woke the five people he needed. Greg House was a bit cranky, and tripped James with his cane. Not fazed at all, James continued back to the blackboard.

When the five people gathered around James, Andron, and Albus, they looked politely curious. Except for House, who just looked grumpy.

"Hello," James said. "We need your help. See, the magical world suffers from a bit of a werewolf epidemic. Andron and I have established a basis for a cure, and we've made a bit of headway on a vaccine. This is a bit like curing AIDs and cancer all in the same day."

"So, you can't just…" Abby made a vague wand-waving gesture. "And cure it?"

"Sadly, no," Andron replied. "James and I have been working for several years on a cure, intensely over the last six months. We need you to look over all of our work and tell us what you think."

"You will, of course, be compensated," James said evenly. James handed each of the five people a separate copy of the work, and asked them to read it over.

Dumbledore changed the cots back into tables. Everyone sat down to breakfast, reading or talking. After a few minutes, a large commotion near Dumbledore left everybody staring at the old man. He smiled benignly and conferred with Minerva for a moment.

He stood and waved his hand. All who knew what to look for felt the magic sweep the room. A Portkey arrived behind the staff table. Several redheaded people, and one or two with brown hair, stumbled to a stop.

"Mum!" Ron Weasley yelled, running toward them. The family was introduced; Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George. Hermione's parents, dentists, were also introduced as Jean and John Granger. Everyone settled down as the newcomers sat down for breakfast.

Halfway through the meal, a dinging sound rang through the hall, startling most people. "What was that?" Shawn Spencer asked, when it became apparent no one else would.

"Drake gets all of his mail forwarded to his pocket. He's much too lazy to get up, walk down the hall, and _get_ the mail," James said.

Drake gave him an angry look as he checked his mail.

"Hey, James, you've got a letter from the Governor of Illinois," Drake said loudly. James heard the sound of ripping paper. "The magical dude, not the muggle guy. Um, _Mr. Potter, blah blah blah_, oh, good stuff! _Due to recent events, you are no longer allowed to operate emergency vehicles within the state of Illinois, owing to your recent rampage across the state in a hijacked ambulance_. Holy crap, James! _The total damage you caused is estimated to be_ –Heaven above!– _approximately one hundred million dollars_."

"I'm speechless," Andron said, somewhat dazedly. "How do you… cause that much damage… in an ambulance?"

"Okay, so, some buildings are just _really_ inconveniently placed, so I just drove through them. They don't seem inclined to mention that by doing so, I saved the life of a member of the wizard's congress." James sat back in his chair and put his cigarette in his mouth. "Just ignore all the good stuff he does… let's focus on the bad, illegal stuff. Assholes, all of them."

"Who?" Andron asked.

"Them," James clarified, unhelpfully. Andron gave him a look that clearly displayed everything he felt for James. And at that moment, it was not very compassionate. James looked around and then turned to Andron. "It should only be another moment before the boys transform. You ready?" he asked.

"Oh, it's what I live for. Mhhm." Andron and James conjured surgical tables and tools. They picked up the frantic wolves, who obviously knew what was about to happen. Lupin was going through the same thing. The boys were placed on the table for the duration of the transformation. The howls slowly turned into the screams of little boys.

Blood quickly began coating the metal suface of the tables and James and Andron each pushed a boy into a laying position and charmed them asleep. When the boys were knocked out, James and Andron sanitized and prepared.

James found a bit of damage to a kidney, and quickly and efficiently made an insicion and stitched the organ. He masterfully searched out other damage, and fixed it artfully. Andron hit a snag.

"Jamie! Artery!" Andron yelled. James moved around the table and pressed his fingers into the boy's abdomen, clamping the artery as Andron worked to repair it. "Thanks, bro. For a second, I thought the last moment i was going to see my brother alive was going to involve arterial spray."

James smirked at him. "Next time, Andy, don't nick the artery."

"Shut up."

They each got their patient patched up and woken. "Man, that was a bitch," Jamal, James' patient, said.

"Jesus, Andron, what did you do to me?" Jamil asked his older brother, rubbing his stomach.

"Oh, don't worry about that," James said calmly. "Andron got a little clumsy and dropped a sandwich in there. You'll be fine once you digest it."

"Is no one else worried about Voldemort, you know, attacking?" asked Andron, deciding to ignore James' stupidity. He figured diverting attention would be best. The twin boys slowly climbed down from the tables that vanished as soon as they removed contact.

James turned to look at him, as the man had managed to clean up and move in only seconds. Andron was sitting on the end of the fifth table, next to Lindsey. The two were holding hands casually, and Lindsey was talking to Kelse and Kathleen, who were sitting on the bench next to her.

James was leaning against the wall next to the door, where he could see everybody. With a wave of his hand, James shrank his truck and slipped it back in his pocket. He ignored the muggles that were muttering about the surgery.

"We'll just sic Sirius on him!" Ron Weasley said, slapping Sirius on the back. "He is, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I'm not fighting Voldemort!" snapped Sirius. Ron looked confused.

"But, you have to. You're the Chosen One."

James and Andron instantly thundered, "_And in the time of greatest despair, there shall come a savior, and he shall be known as THE SON OF THE SUNS_!"

"That was one of the most hardcore geek moments _ever_," Shawn Spencer said.

Ron, giving James and Andron a weird look, said to Sirius, "But you're the only one that can kill Voldemort. The prophecy said so."

"Did the prophecy say my name, Ron? No. Born as the seventh month dies, born to those who have thrice defied him, and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal."

"What are you saying? You're not the Chosen One?" Hermione asked.

Sirius Potter stood, looking about the hall angrily. "You know what?" he demanded. "I wasn't the one that stopped Voldemort! **James** was! It's obvious to anyone that looks hard enough! I've never been smart, or powerful, or strong. I'm a friggin coward! You chose the wrong kid!" Sirius accused, pointing at Dumbledore. "I will not be the one to kill Voldemort. James will."

"Hey man, I only pick fights I know I can win. Yer fucked," James replied.

"What do you mean, you can't win?" snapped Sirius, breathing heavily.

"In case you've missed it, I don't roll with the magic thing. I despise the shortcuts it provides in most cases, and I think wizards are lazy, despicable creatures that hate muggles, even though they couldn't live the life of a muggle if they tried. The inbreeding and cousin-marrying is vile, and the perpetuation of prejudice is contemptible. Draco Malfoy is a perfect example of all cases. He is a rich little bigot that's half sterile and couldn't work a toaster given a diagram and written instructions. Witches and wizards are not trained in any form of logic or problem solving, so when the one in a millions comes along and can comprehend multi-step problems, he's hailed as some sort of genius!" James yelled, with a vague wave in the direction of his grandfather. His voice took on a tone of mockery when he added, "Because, honestly, knowing that perhaps Dark Lords should be killed… It's not rocket science."

"You have some serious unresolved issues, don't you?" Andron asked.

"I am not sterile," an enraged Draco Malfoy said from where he stood at the Slytherin table.

"Need I remind you," James asked, "that your mother married her cousin, and you're betrothed to your mother's cousin once removed? Don't worry, it's not just you! The Weasley's, as it is, are just as inbred. Septimus Weasley, Ronald's paternal grandfather, married Cedrella Black. Ignatius Prewett, Ronald's maternal grandfather, married Lucretia Black. Molly Prewett married Arthur Weasley, thus marrying her cousin, both descended from Phineas Nigellus Black. I am, of course, related to the Black," he pointed to Sirius Black, "Bullstrode," he pointed to Millicent Bulstrode, "and Flint families," he said, pointing to Martin Flint, younger brother of Marcus Flint. "I think the only reason I don't twitch oddly is because James Potter dipped _outside_ of the gene pool, and didn't marry his sister. Lord knows every British pureblood in this room is Voldemort's cousin!"

"You need to stop reading up on genealogy," Andron muttered. "It's making you crazy."

"Well, if we really want to be technical," James snidely added, "Adam and Eve weren't married, so we're all bastards in the eyes of God."

Andron laughed even as Ida May huffed.

"Your blasphemies will one day be judged," she said mightily, though without much hope. She knew better than to try to talk to James about religion. She usually ended up whacking him with her handbag.

"The point!" yelled Sirius Potter, "is that you should all shut up about the Boy-Who-Lived shite, and leave me well enough alone. James is the martyr you're looking for."

"Whoa, hold up. I'm no martyr. I doen't like anything, or anyone, enough to run off and die for 'em," James said. He sat on the table occupied by his colleagues. "There's never going to be any type of sacrifice on my part."

"Dude, you've done nothing but run around the world rescuing people for the last six months," Andron said with derision. "You've been shot, stabbed, blown up, electrocuted, hit by cars, hamstringed, poisoned, and tortured. _Who's_ not a martyr?"

"I have done most of that for the money and political power I have gained. I am an entirely selfish person."

"You are not," Andron said. "You just want people to think you are."

"I'm glad I'm not James!" spat Sirius. "A cold-hearted, mean-spirited, soulless machine! A robot capable only of logic and facts and figures. Not understanding fun, or excitement, or love. Who would want such a life?"

The young man that had portkeyed in with Drake snorted. "Not knowing excitement? My name is Cambal Reed, journalist with the _New York Wizard's Voice_. I'm doing a series of articles on the most influential American wizards of the century. Drake Herr and James Potter are the top two. As such, I have done much research on the life of Doctor James Potter. I've watched hundreds of hours of video, read scores of books, and spoken to almost all of his magical colleagues," Reed said with a glare toward Drake. "James Potter leads one of the most exciting lives… ever."

"How so?" demanded Sirius. "Sure, he does some rescue missions, but he seems to be against fun for all intents and purposes."

"Not until he entered college," Reed replied easily. "I have a video, if you wish to see my point."

Andron leapt up and gleefully shouted, "I wanna see! Jamie, I know you carry a TV in your pocket, so bust it out! It's movie night!"

Rolling his eyes, James pulled a shrunken TV from his pocket. "What else do you carry in there?" Lindsey asked. "Because I sort of wonder what it is you keep in your house."

"Sweetie, everything a man could need is in my pants," James said with a smirk. Andron, DVD in hand, ran toward James and grabbed the television, throwing it at the wall and enlarging it.

"One of the perks of magic," he said to no one in particular. "You can buy a sixteen inch screen, and turn it into a sixty inch screen without an issue."

"That's considered a charmed muggle artifact," Arthur Weasley said dryly. "And it's illegal."

Without looking at the aging redhead, Andron held up his hand toward him and said, "Hush. That's beside the point. And unimportant. Who are you to make such accusations, anyway?"

"I am the Head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts with the Ministry of Magic," the man stated with dry humor.

"Yeah, well… shut up. Nobody cares about charmed muggle artifacts where I come from." Andron struggled for another moment to get the DVD to play.

"That Ivy League education put to good use, I should think," James snarked.

"I'm'a bust you in the nose," threatened Andron, with humor. "I got a PhD in DVD."

"Porn, that is," James muttered.

"Is it pick on Andron day?"

"No, that's only when the Raiders are playing."

"I am so offended right now," said Andron, "that we're not friends for the next five minutes."

"Fine then. Your lab procedures are sloppy."

Andron turned around, gaping. "I have never, ever been so insulted in all my life."

"Play the damn movie," Malaki said shortly.

"I'm getting there, you whining little. . ."

Reed explained as Andron finished setting up. "This is a documentary I made to convince a director to make a movie about James. His story is phenomenal. The director I spoke to agreed to the production after witnessing the following highlights of the life of James Potter. That is, of course, if James himself agrees."

"Yes. But only if Andy Burbank plays the role of me," James said, referring to a well known magical actor.

"James… Burbank has been dead for ten years," Reed said.

"That seems like a personal issue you're going to have to work out," answered James as the DVD finally played.

__________

A black haired, green eyes toddler was on the screen, intently reading a book. When an older man entered the room and told the boy to go to bed, the child looked up at him with a glare. "Kindly get the fuck out," he said calmly. Unperturbed, the man left without another word.

The proceeding movie was a recap of James' life, with the images heavily supplied by Andron… the traitor.

James was three years old, and had only been in America for a few months. His accent was quickly wearing off, and the other orphans had stopped looking at him as if he were a science experiment gone horribly wrong. Mostly. "Harry!" a deep voice called from across the yard.

"Will you not call me by that wretched name!" snapped the small boy. Fire had entered his eyes, and he was standing in a fierce stance.

"What should I call you then, you wretched little child?" the man yelled back.

"Anything but Harry! What kind of evil, vile human would name a child 'Harry'?"

"Isn't your name Harold?" The man asked, moving closer.

"The hell it is. I was born Harry James Potter."

"Then I'll call you James."

Green eyes stared at the man a moment before the boy shrugged. "Yeah, you could think of something better. I have that much faith in you."

At five, James met Andron at a meeting of young geniuses. After they got into a fight and each got a broken nose, they bonded quickly and became friends. It was around that time James had met Drake, who taught him Occlumency. Using that method, James was able to recall his life back to being six months old. He vividly recalled Voldemort attacking his family, and using a killing curse on him. He remembered unimaginable pain, and then blackness.

The memory of his father taking him to the orphanage was hardest for James to recall. Standing in the middle of the studio where he practiced with Drake, James snarled, "Worthless hack."

"So, you have a twin brother? One can only hope he's not as violent as you."

"Shut up."

"Oh, so sorry to interrupt your revenge plotting. Hey, at least Dumbledore was a good fellow, no?" Drake asked, trying to cheer the kid up a bit.

"Lovely. One person in my entire family actually liked me. Total win."

"You could always write to him, you know."

"I could also pull all my teeth out with pliers," deadpanned the small boy.

James was seven the first time he jumped off a building. He landed in a swimming pool… well, mostly. His lower body slammed against the cement, smashing his legs. He fell into the pool fully and sank to the bottom. A skinny Andron ran and jumped into the pool, dragging his friend back up. Blood began reddening the water where bone fragments had torn through skin.

James smirked as he was helped into an ambulance.

At eight, James took up motorcycle riding. A few months after his first try, he and Andron were racing on a motocross track. On the last jump, James' engine died in midair. When he hit the ground again, his femur snapped and his arm smashed. Regardless, he ran the ten feet to the finish line and demanded that Andron acknowledge his victory.

Andron didn't.

James punched him in the stomach and walked away.

A few months after that, James and Andron were in a library, discussing genetics in relation to selective mating. James stopped mid-word and stared at a row of books. "Oh hell no," he said, looking both shocked and angry.

"What's up. . . Oh, my." Andron sounded as if he were resigned a terrible fate.

James was staring at a row of religious texts on a non-fiction shelf.

"Someone has gone outside of their mind." He was muttering crazily to himself, as he had begun to do when angered. "What in the hell do they think they're trying to say? Now," James said as he dropped every holy book to the ground, "I don't suggest we put these in the fiction section –that would be rude- but instead, they should have their own section. Short of that…" Despite what James had said, he piled all of the books on a fiction shelf.

Andron seemed to be having some sort of fit. "You can't… that's not… Oh, we are so going to Hell. Karma is going to kill us for this. As soon as we walk out of here-_**BUS**_… and then we're dead. You've lost it!"

James slowly turned to Andron with a look that said Andron was the insane one. "Dude. We're in a library. Shhh."

Small choking noises escaped Andron's throat as he stared wide eyed at James. As they were walking through the expansive building, a strict, fierce looking older woman with graying hair walked up to them.

"Are you the hooligans that moved the holy books?" she demanded. She went on without waiting for an answer. "Get out. Don't come back. You're no longer welcome at this library."

"Whoa, lady. This is a public library," Andron said. He wasn't much concerned; with the ability to portkey, every library in the country was available to him. He knew, however, that James would be pissed at the miscarriage of justice.

"Get out, you ruffians. You," she said, indicating James, "smell like a dead animal. You," she said, pointing to Andron, "look like you just crawled out of a dumpster. Out, get out."

As the two boys stood on the steps of the library, they looked down at themselves and at each other. James wrinkled his nose at Andron. "I smell like dead animal because I dissected a squirrel two hours ago. You have no excuse, though," he said haughtily. He proceeded forward, leaving a steaming Andron behind.

At nine, James got a job working with a medical examiner, lugging bodies and sweeping floors every day after school and most of Saturday. It wasn't quite his dream job, and it severely cut into his study time. But he figured it was worth it.

Even Einstein had to learn to add and subtract.

One day while he was washing the autopsy table, a commotion in the next room caught his attention. Apparently, someone very important had died, and ME Williams had been asked to do the autopsy. The problem, though, was that they were headed into the back room, where James was. Where James, an unqualified minor was working illegally, was standing.

Thinking quickly, not thoroughly, hid in the freezer where unclaimed bodies were kept. It was very much like a walk in freezer, but instead of delicious frozen foods and ice cream, it housed several rolling tables each with a dead body covered by a sheet on it.

Cold and shivering, James sat on a metal table for several hours. When ME Williams opened the freezer and pulled James out, he was blue and angry. He tried to say, "Could you have taken any longer?" but it came out as, "C-c-c-c-c-c-"

"Jesus, James," Davie Williams, a man of about fifty-five with mostly grey hair and mustache, said. "I didn't think that would take so long. Why didn't you hide in the bathroom?"

James glared at him. "I hate you," he finally said.

"What are we doing?" Andron asked as the two ten-year-olds crept through the orphanage. "I'm hungry."

"Shut up. We're hunting," James said.

"Hunting? You're trying to shoot another kid with a sling shot."

"Wrist rocket," James said easily.

"What?" Andron asked, confused.

James turned to look at him. "A wrist rocket causes way more damage than a slingshot. There's more wrist support and more leverage. It'll pierce skin if needed."

"James," Andron said dryly, "you're a cruel person. Why would you need to pierce skin? The kid is twelve."

"I have reason to believe that he stole my pencil."

"This is bullshit. We're going to be arrested because some jerk stole your pencil. My life is ruined over some graphite. What a way to go. Bullshit- Holy shit!"

The small metal ball James had shot went right through the victim's arm, hitting the wall on the other side. "Told you," muttered James. Within a moment, Andron was holding the slingshot, and James was running away at top speed.

"Oh, come on!" Andron yelled after him.

The FBI filed into James' bedroom when he was ten. "Is this going to be a monthly thing, James?" the Agent in Charge asked, wearing sunglasses and a black hat that said FBI in yellow letters.

"Agent McDowel, your life will be much easier when you realize that I build bombs. I build them with great regularity."

"Do the people that run this place know you have enough explosives in here to blow the building? Because if they do, they are guilty of child endangerment, and quite possible child neglect."

"I don't know what those people know, and if I did, I would know that they know very little compared to what I know about explosives, and I know a lot," James said. The agent rolled his eyes. "When can I have my room back?"

"Why don't you come down to the office and we can talk about the situation."

James sat in the FBI office that would later be run by Don Eppes. He was staring down Agent McDowel, who, he had determined, was bent upon ruining his life. First, it had been his bomb, then his jet, then his other, even better bomb. James felt no love for the FBI.

"So, why were you building an explosive?" McDowel asked.

"Well, I want to see if one of the damn things will blow up, but you keep _taking_ them, so I have to keep _making_ them." McDowel rolled his eyes. He dropped a file on the desk as he tilted his chair back and clasped his hands behind his head.

"Listen, kid, I have a deal for you. We're having a retirement party for a well respected, high ranking agent in six months. I'm in charge of entertainment for this, because I'm such a fun guy," McDowel said in a tone that implied that he was not, in fact, a fun guy. And he wasn't. "The finale of the event is a firework show. The guy I hired dropped out yesterday."

"You set up that whole search just to get me to do this, didn't you?" James asked shrewdly. "You knew I couldn't resist lighting stuff on fire."

"Of course. I should remind you, of course, that we did find a sword in your room that is illegal in the state of California. Moving on. I would give you full license to set up and run the show. Which, it happens, includes covering all expenses for the fireworks and set up, and a hefty check for you. How does that sound?" asked McDowel. James looked him over for a moment.

"Where is this being held?"

McDowel outlined the location of the hotel where the party was going to be held. "Can you do that?"

"Can I…" James stared at the man. "You must be joking."

Six months later, James stood on a hotel opposite the one hosting the party. He and Andron were surrounded by computers and cords and buttons. A phone call signaled the time.

"Ready?" Andron asked. With a nod, James began punching keys on a keyboard with stunning precision.

The show consisted of seven hundred and twenty-three individual fireworks were scheduled to go off before the finale. The finale consisted for three hundred explosions. At the very end, fireworks spelled out the words 'GOOD LUCK AGENT MASON!' almost perfectly.

James smirked when he saw the check handed to him for twenty-five hundred dollars. To think, it had only taken him three hours to set up! James could make a living on more than five hundred dollars an hour…

James' life between eleven and fifteen consisted of countless hours of school, study, and training. He spent most of his weekends at Quantico, learning hostage rescue, sniping, interrogation, and countless other dangerous things. At one point, a group of FBI trainers 'kidnapped' him, and parachuted him down into a forest. He was there for three days with only a knife. Which, as it is, he used quite effectively when he found the campsite of the guys that had left him for dead.

When he had cleanly carved his initials into their chests, he ran away before they had woken up. He would deal with their angst after he had taken a proper shower.

James was thirteen, arguing with a smartly dressed man three times his age at least. They were in a room which any magical American could recognize as the President of the magical community. James was nearly beside himself, having absolutely lost control of his anger.

"Have you gone insane?" James yelled. "You can't go to war!"

"I can, and I will. I will not allow this country to be bullied."

"Listen to me, you belligerent war hawk! You are invading the wrong country! This will not lead to an American victory!" James snapped. He was breathing deeply and looked wild-eyed. The man he was arguing with had light brown eyes and black hair, which was graying at the temples. Sharp eyes glared at James from across the desk.

"I am doing what I believe to be best for the country."

"Well, Mr. President, you are wrong. If you sign that paper, I will guarantee that you are not reelected next year."

"You think you hold such sway?" President Woods asked.

"You would not get a single vote after I explain what it is you have done here. You care more for this office than you do for this country. You think with your wallet more than your brain and your heart. Worse yet, you think with the country's wallet."

"You can not come to my office and speak to me like that-"

"I will speak to you as I please. This is not the right road for the country to take."

"Why should I listen to you?" demanded the man. He bent slightly and signed a paper with a flourish. He looked up at James with a smirk, picked up his phone and spoke, "I have signed the war declaration. Deploy the troops."

"Idiot," James hissed. "You will regret that."

President Woods was not reelected. James backed a man named Andreas Kline. Kline won by more than seventy percent. Woods was so ashamed he left office out the back door, covering his face.

___

When the quasi-movie ended, James glared at Andron. "That was ridiculous. It left out all the cool parts of my life."

"Hey, I didn't make it. Reed did. I liked it. It made me look taller," Andron said.

"You yelled at the president?" Ida May asked. Andron smirked at James, happy his mother was angry at James for once. And then, "Thank the Lord somebody did. That man was a menace."

"I agree," Drake said. "Some of my best soldiers have died in that war he caused."

The room fell silent as everyone looked at him. "So, man, like, what the hell do you do? You're the Chief of Police of New York City. You write books on magical theory…" Malaki said.

"I am also the General in charge of the Seventh Army. I've been a full time military officer since eighteen-seventy."

"Can you imagine the pay-grade?" Maleek asked.

Cambal Reed stood looking at James. "That was the first draft, so to speak. I gathered all the video from Drake and Andron. It would be cooler if… I got some footage from you," he hedged.

"I'm sure." James was staring at Drake with a glint that the old man knew all too well.

"No. Whatever you are planning… No. It is not a good idea."

"It's a wonderful idea!" James said.

"What's the idea?" asked Andron.

"I don't know, but I don't like it," replied Drake.

"We're calling in the Seventh to destroy Voldemort!" James said cheerfully.

"Uh, no!" Drake declared.

"Fine, maybe not the _whole_ Seventh… at least the 501st."

"No, James! They are the craziest motherfuckers in uniform! They'd roll all up in here," Andron said, pausing to take a breath to continue his rant, "and blow everything not bolted down straight outta the stratosphere! Not one of them niggas can be trusted! They like callin in the residents of San Quentin to break up a catfight!"

"You are overly dramatic," James said calmly. "The men and women of the 501st are some of the best fighters we have."

"_You_ have. Have you noticed? They don't like anyone as much as they like you. That's probably because you're the head crazy. You're the leader."

"Damn straight. Drake, call them in."

"Hell no-"

"Drake, call them in."

"This isn't a-"

"Fine, I'll call them in." James pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed three on his speed dial. When the person on the other end answered, James said, "Hey, Andreas. Minor problem. That psycho Head of the International Confederation of Wizards has kidnapped almost a hundred important muggle law enforcement personnel."

"I did not," Albus Dumbledore said, sounding hurt.

"And he is holding them hostage until his Dark Lord issue is solved for him."

"I am not!" Albus said.

"So, to retrieve these people, you will send the 501st to this school, under the command of Drake Herr, and declare war upon Voldemort to make it legal. Also, you will compensate these people for time lost. Sound good?" James asked in a no-nonsense, business like tone.

"Um, oh, yes, sure. I'll get on that. Anything else?" Andreas Kline asked. He was a nervous man, who was very grateful that James had gotten him elected.

James smirked as he replied, "No, that's it for now. Thanks, Andreas. We'll be expecting the troops within a day."

James hung up the phone and turned to the rest of the people in the hall. "I did not kidnap them, nor am I holding them hostage," Albus snapped.

"Of course not. But Andreas is a sucker for a good crime drama. Troops will be here in a few hours. Do you have any plans for where the students will go?" asked James. He looked about at the students and then back at Dumbledore.

"Go… when?" Albus asked.

"When the fighting breaks out, my slow friend. Where will the students go? They are a liability to the rest of us."

"Us?" Andron asked. "What the hell? Nigga, soon as I see any type of hostility, I'm about to bounce. Peace, nigga."

"No, you're not," Drake said. "Because I've just conscripted you into the Armed Forces of the United States. And you," he said, pointing to Andron's brother, Malaki. In half a minute, all magical Americans in the room over the age of seventeen were drafted.

Except, "Sweetie, I'll say this once," Ida May said calmly, "I am eighty-one years old. Past the draft age. Sorry, dear."

"And I," Lars Schwartz said with a confident grin, "was born in Germany between 1910 and 1950. Though I am only seventy-nine years old."

"What is the draft age?" Catherine Willows asked.

"Between seventeen and eighty. On is ineligible for the draft if they were born in an enemy country. Germany was so declared an enemy country from 1910 to 1950," James replied.

"I notice you weren't drafted," a glum looking Andron said to James.

"No, this crazy punk enlisted the day he turned seventeen," answered Drake. "We've just been deferring his commission."

"Do I get no say in this?" Albus asked.

"Yeah!" James said coldly. "Come off of your high horse and mingle with the commoners!" He said, referring to the fact that Dumbledore's chair, like all the teacher's, was on a platform, far removed from the student's. The fifth table that had been added was somewhat squished between the Gryffindor table and the wall.

"I have a better idea. If everyone would stand for a moment…" Dumbledore said, standing himself. Everyone followed him. He waved his wand and said a string of words from a long dead language. The long rectangular tables disappeared, leaving several dozen round five person tables. "If at least one non-magical person could sit at each table… Perhaps this is as good a time as any to foster some understanding of other cultures."

There was a mad dash for tables, and before James could register what was happening, there was only one seat left. James lost his appetite as he walked toward the empty chair and sat down. To his left was Albus Dumbledore. To his right was Shawn Spencer. Next to Shawn sat Sirius Potter. Along with him sat Lily and Jim Potter. James shot his grandfather a look, wondering if the man had had anything to do with it.

All he got in reply was a small smile. "So, James, would you like to introduce everybody?"

"Of course. Shawn, this is Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and a distant relation of mine."

"Is it pick on Albus day?" the bearded man asked, with a small twitch of his mustache.

"No, if that were true, I would certainly have something to say about your robes," James said, gesturing to the midnight blue robes with sparkling silver stars. "Moving on. Shawn, this is Sirius Potter, my brother, Jim Potter, and Lily Potter. Distant relations, this is Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective."

"That was wonderful, James," Albus said.

"I thought you said all your family was dead," Shawn said.

"I believe I said they were no longer with me. Which is true. Potatoes?" James asked, offering a bowl of mashed potatoes. Shawn took them with a blank look. He hadn't even noticed food appear. James looked over and saw that sitting on either side of Draco Malfoy was Ida May and Jethro Gibbs. Poor kid.

Talk at his table turned to James' Psychic Detective agency. He explained what he did and gave hints as to how. Jim Potter seemed to instantly like Shawn and his odd manner of… everything. "James, stop being a sour patch kid. Today is a day for celebration."

"Why?" James asked.

"I convinced Gus to buy me a pineapple tree!"

"You… No, I don't care," James said.

"James, what are your plans for this army you have hired?" Albus asked.

"They are vicious fighters. They kill without mercy. We draw the Death Eaters here and set the 501st loose. They have no chance."

"And what would you plan to be doing?" Albus asked.

"I am a fully qualified sniper. Trained to a range of up to fifteen hundred yards. I could kill Voldemort if he were standing in Hogsmeade."

"What grudge do you hold against magic?" Lily Potter asked.

"By the age of six, I was much more concerned with the manipulation of genes than turning matchsticks into needles. I am, admittedly, quite mediocre when it comes to magical ability," James said calmly.

"Really?" Albus asked, sounding genuinely surprised. James looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Really. Magic is a bit tame, and boring."

"How well do you duel?" asked his grandfather.

"It depends on the rules of the duel. I would lose a gentleman's duel, because I am too… I cheat a lot. In a no holds barred duel, however, I could hold my own fairly well, I think."

"Really, now? Well then, I challenge you to a duel," Albus said.

"I only pick fights I know I can win," replied James.

"I'm picking this fight," corrected Dumbledore. "Do you accept?"

James looked at the other man for a moment. "Sure. Anything to ease the monotony."

"Splendid! After lunch, then? Wonderful, wonderful. You wouldn't harm an old man, would you?" Dumbledore asked playfully.

"You are two years older than Drake… and I put him in a coma for a month and a half with a Blasting Hex to the head. After I had thrown sand in his eyes and kicked him in the nuts."

"I see."

After lunch- the memory of which James was sure he was going to repress into the deepest, darkest places of his mind, considering after a few glasses of wine Shawn was hitting on Lily- Dumbledore cleared away all of the tables and asked everyone to move to the edges of the room. Then he cast protective charms around the onlookers.

As James stood across from his grandfather, he felt as if he had made a huge mistake. Albus, who usually looked calm and kind, suddenly looked like the Grand Sorcerer he was.

"Shoot him in the toe, James!" Andron called from the sideline.

"So, how do we start?" James asked.

"It is customary for a judge to call a time, but I think I will give you the first spell." Dumbledore stood with a thoughtful look on his face.

James, as was hit habit, started with a Splitting Curse. It ripped the skin apart, not cleaning as the Cutting Curse did, but it literally pulled the skin until it split. Dumbledore blocked the curse easily, and sent a Tickling Charm at James. James, unaffected, let it hit him. In return, he sent a blasting curse, followed by a blood boiling hex.

Within moments, the rhythm of spells was blinding, and the intensity of each was bordering on Dark Arts. James' left arm had splintered into little fragments of bone, while Albus was sporting a severely broken leg and lacerations to his face and chest.

The duel ended after an hour, when both men scored with a Stunning Spell. Andron revived them, laughing. "So, I guess it was a tie?" he asked.

James stood up, splinting his broken arm. He looked down and saw Jim Potter trying to help Albus up, oblivious to most of his injuries. "Will you get away from him," ordered James as he walked over. He knelt next to his grandfather and gently pushed him back to the ground. "Don't move, you'll aggravate your injuries. Stop it!" James said, slapping Albus' hand as the older man tried to poke a cut.

"You're not a qualified healer, James," Albus said, worry tingeing his voice.

"No, but I am a fully qualified doctor. Now, stop whining." James bandaged the cuts and splinted the broken leg.

"Thanks you," Albus said sincerely. Their eyes met for a moment, and James nodded. They smiled and James helped his grandfather to his feet.

"That's going to hurt for a few days. No magical healing for at least two days," James said sternly. "And that means… NO magical healing for AT LEAST two days."

"Okay, okay," Albus said with a smile and a wince. "Ow."

"Wuss," James muttered.

The rest of the day was a culture sharing experience. Many of the more open minded witches and wizards spent several hours listening to explanations of how muggles lived. The muggleborns were very interested in the various careers the muggles represented.

After breakfast the next morning, Severus Snape called all of the fourth year Hufflepuffs for a potions lesson. Other teachers followed his example, and soon, all of the Hogwarts students were split up and studying. The muggles were talking amongst themselves. James and Andron were talking to Albus Dumbledore about the plan for the arrival of the military and Voldemort.

"James," Albus said quietly, "how do you plan on doing this?"

"Relax. I've got this. You, the teachers, the students, and the muggles are going to hide out-"

"Excuse me," Albus said calmly. "I will not hide away with the women and children-"

"You are old and valuable, and you will do as you are told," James said in a firm, unyielding voice.

Albus' eyes widened, before they narrowed. "Listen to me, boy. I won't be spoken to like that. I am a capable wizard able to take care of myself."

"You listen to me!" James snapped, taking care to keep his voice low and not heard beyond the two people he was speaking with. "If you fight with us, you could die. I don't want you to die. If you die, I'd never forgive you. You're…" James trailed off and looked down.

"Aw…" Albus said, pulling James into a hug, "you're worried about me! That's so sweet! James, nothing is going to happen to me."

James briefly hugged the man back before pulling away. "Exactly. Because you're going to be safely tucked away someplace safe-"

"I can't do that James. I have to be there."

It took an hour to convince James that Albus could fight with them. James was reluctant to let Andron fight, but his friend point blank told him to shove it. Andron liked to act like a coward, but he was fairly noble when the time called for it.

It was only a few moments later that the 501st entered the building. "How…" Albus asked, looking to James. "The castle is locked down completely. A draft shouldn't be able to get in, let alone two hundred people. At least, not without me allowing it." James simply smirked at him.

The Great Hall expanded a bit more to accommodate the added people. The men and women stood at attention with straight backs and grim faces. Drake stood and, in his order giving voice, yelled, "Do you think you're on leave? Straighten up, chin up, feet together. You're in the presence of the highest ranking member of the Armed Forces!"

Each one of the two hundred people was in battle fatigues the color of dirt and sand. They had heavy backpacks and long guns invented by the magical government. Pant legs tucked into boots, shirts tucked into pants, and the women had their hair pulled into strict, tight buns. All of them looked very similar to the person next to them, with minor exceptions.

They were set in rows, with twenty across and ten deep. Each row of ten had a different patch then the next. The first five and the second five of each ten had a different color background, red or blue.

James had helped design the structure of the 501st. The two hundred people made a company. There were twenty groups of ten, which made up the twenty crews. In each crew were two groups of five, or squads.

The oldest looking man in the 501st stepped forward and turned to address the company. He was Sergeant Major Giles Morten, Third Crew, Red Squad. He reminded most people of a grandfather stuck in World War II, a real life career military man.

Straight backed, the man called out, "Seventh Army, 501st Company reporting for orders, sir!"

"At ease!" Drake barked. There was a very small relaxation among the group. Drake went through a fairly standard welcoming speech, explaining the situation and snapping orders. Crews One to Ten would fight under Drake. The other ten would fight under James. The men and women had no problem reporting to James; he had grown up with them, and they knew he was sharp, and trustworthy.

"What of the other's that wish to fight?" Andron asked.

"You will lead them as a 501st task force," answered James. "Take Dumbledore and your family, and…" James looked toward the muggles. "Any of you feel like fighting?" he asked. They stared at him, but Colby Granger stood up. Don Eppes followed him, as did Elliot Stabler. Jethro Gibbs followed shortly, and then Michael Weston. It took another second for, surprisingly, ME Melinda Warner to stand.

"I was in the Air Force," she said when she got strange looks from the standing men.

"Really?" Andron asked, seemingly just for something to say.

"I did two tours of duty in the Gulf War, as a doctor."

"Oh, cool," replied Andron.

"What are a bunch of muggles going to do against the Dark Lord?" Draco Malfoy scoffed.

"The Dark Lord terrorized muggles because he surprises them. Yeah, if I sneak up behind someone and jump on them, they'd be scared of me, too. Forewarned is forearmed. And speaking of such…"

James waved his wand and muttered a word or two. A smoky image of Lord Voldemort appeared in the room, pacing to and fro. At some unseen cue, the looming black-cloaked figure turned and stared in the direction of the muggles.

"Ew," Kathleen Stabler said. "He needs a serious nose job."

"Yeah, just look at his skin. Never heard of moisturizing cream?" Lindsey Willows demanded.

"What is wrong with you people?" Malfoy growled. "Mocking the Dark Lord! How dare you, you dirty muggles!" the blond howled.

"Sir," Giles said to Drake, "this seems to be a security risk."

"Right you are," Drake answered. "James?"

"Nineteenth Crew, Blue Squad!" barked James. "Search and detain!"

Three men and two women moved forward among the students and systematically checked for Dark Marks. After each squad member had found a person, the student was dragged back and forced to his knees against a wall. Two Slytherins, a Ravenclaw, and two Hufflepuffs.

Each member of the squad pressed the barrel of their rifle to the back of a shocked head. "Does anybody here wish to give up information in exchange for their life?" James asked in an eerily calm voice.

"Fuck you!" on of the yellow clad boys yelled, trying to turn to look at James. "My Master will destroy you!"

"Is that so?" James asked with disinterest. "He is certainly welcome to try. Detain them," ordered James, turning back to Andron. Rethinking, James added, "Please, do not cause irreversible damage. I would hate to have to explain that away to the government, theirs or mine." The men nodded.

"That was…" Andron paused for a moment, before he added, "uncommonly gracious of you, James. Especially after. . ."

"You mean, after I found out that Death Eaters killed my dogs?" James helpfully supplied.

Andron, looking uncomfortable, nodded. "Well, yeah. I mean, you were very attached to the dogs."

"They killed the dogs?" Ida May asked. "Those bastards."

"Oh yeah," Malaki said, nodding. "Soon as those bitches broke in, Sunshine and Daisy straight mauled them. Went right for the nuts. Couple'a Killing Curses took the mutts out, though."

"Since I feel especially kind at the moment, and I like you, I will ignore the fact that you just called my highly trained, combat quality purebreds 'mutts'. Now, on to other matters, Private Johnson," James said calmly turning to a light haired man to his left, who snapped to attention. "Please lead a squad in finding every person in this hall marked as a Death Eater." James stepped forward and, in a very faint whisper, said, "There is a man marked at the staff table, black hair, black eyes. Do nothing with him. He is a spy."

"Aye aye, Cappin," Johnson deadpanned. He turned and walked away, signaling the four other men in his squad to follow. Twenty-five marked students were found. James ordered that they be questioned and detained.

"What about using enhanced interrogation techniques?" Lieutenant Curtis asked, straight-faced.

"Legilimency is as far as you will take it. If I hear one thing about you using the Cruciatus Curse. . ." James said, leaving the sentence open.

"Right. We'll put up a silencing charm."

"Good man," James replied as the Lieutenant walked away.

"James," Dumbledore said calmly. "What is going on? Being the head of this school, I suppose I've gotten used to knowing what is happening. Can't imagine why, of course."

"Were you always this sarcastic, or is this a new development?" James didn't wait for an answer before he continued. "Lieutenant Curtis is trained in many things; interrogation of hostile entities is his specialty. He is now going to retrieve all of the information on Voldemort that he can."

"How could he possibly know what to ask? I doubt he knows much of the situation," Albus pointed out.

"Come now, Albus," Drake said with his usual politicians charm. "Did you think that just because I did not support you, that I did not pass on the information you gave?"

"Pardon me?" Albus gave Drake a questioning look.

"You really have no idea who I am?" Drake asked, feigning hurt. He then smiled brightly. "I've called you a doddering old fool at every meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards for the last fifty years. In fact, a few months ago, I impressed even myself when I called you a 'persnickety pouf with your head shoved so far up your own-' "

Dumbledore cut him off with a quick, "Hank Smith."

"Right in one!" Drake said. "I use varying names, depending upon the situation. All those years, I told you that you should be nicer to me."

"You have metamorphmagus abilities, I assume?" Albus nodded without waiting for a reply. "Very clever. This explains why you have not supported anything I have ever said in those meetings, even something as mundane as the weather being nice."

"The enemy of my friend is my enemy as well," Drake said with a shrug.

"You hated me long before he came along," Albus said shrewdly.

Drake smirked. "Yes, well, you're an ass. You had defeated Grindewald, you were recently made Headmaster… people looked at you like you were shittin gold. Moreover, you were very close to Nicolas Flamel, a man whom I oppose on a moral level. Then, for the love of god, that damn child was born. I've never heard somebody so damn over the moon about anything. I wanted to kill you."

"How wonderful," Albus said. "Why do you oppose Nicolas?"

"What kind of a selfish bastard spends a century creating an object that would ensure immortality? Immortality is for fools and cowards. Nicolas Flamel is a fool and a coward, and has lived long passed his time."

"Agreed," James and Andron said.

"Death really isn't all that bad," added James.

"And he would know. He's been legally dead more than twenty times," supplied Andron.

"So…" Ron Weasley said as the silence stretched. "Do we get to fight?"

"No. You are a liability," replied James. "You have no training, and no skills. And you annoy me."

"What? This is totally anti-climactic! I've been helping to fight Voldemort for years, and all the sudden you jump in and take over?" Ron demanded. His mother attempted to shush him, but Ron brushed her off.

"We are better qualified, better equipped, and better prepared," Andron said coldly. "You would get in our way."

"And the muggles wouldn't?" snapped the angry redhead.

"As odd as it may seem to you, most of those muggles are better suited to these things than you are," James said airily as he paced in front of the assembled troops. "Many of them have military background. Military is something you British wizards don't understand. You rely entirely on your… Aurors," James said with disdain.

Michael Weston, a blacklisted CIA spy, asked, "What does that mean?"

"Aurors," Andron said, as if reading from a boring book, "are a bit like police. Imagine protecting your entire country using only the NYPD."

"Which is why," James continued, "these people suck at going to war."

"And why the casualty rate is so high," added Drake.

"So, you're pro-military, I take it?" Shawn Spencer asked.

"To a degree," James answered. "I believe in defense and protection. A belligerent military, however, is one to be avoided. Speaking of that, Albus, you might want to call in the Aurors, to keep up appearances. You obviously know some spell to allow portkeys in… even though you said no one in or out."

"Did you not use the same spell to get these soldiers in?" Albus countered, avoiding the subject.

"Nope. They apparated," answered James.

"You can't apparate in or out of Hogwarts," Hermione Granger scoffed. "Especially not with the castle acting the way she is."

"Have you ever apparated before? Once, twice? Hmm. You'll find that there are some ways around such wards. I, it so happens, have one of these," James said as he held up a small metal cube, a little smaller than a golf ball. "This enables a person, or large group of people, to apparate directly to me. Andron, if you would."

Andron apparated to James' side, causing a few shocked looks, mostly from the non-magic folk in the area, who had never really seen apparation. "See, to apparate, you have to know what your intended location looks like. These people, never having been in Hogwarts, did not. But, they know what James looks like. Effectively, they did not apparate to Hogwarts, but to James."

"And You-Know-Who hasn't tried this… why?" Ron asked.

"Because Voldemort," James said, emphasizing the name.

"Is a bitch!" Andron finished before James could. "That motherfucker is scared of his own shadow. The last thing he needs it to apparate into the middle of enemy territory."

"Okay," James muttered. "I was going to mention the fact that there are only three of these in existence, and they are programmed to self destruct if they should fall into the wrong hands. But your explanation is accurate, as well."

"You two are impossible," Albus said. "What do you plan to do with the students you have captured?"

"Kill them. Burn the bodies. Vanish the ashes," James said, deadpan.

"Very funny," Dumbledore said, rolling his eyes. "Hysterical."

"And here I thought James had no sense of humor," Andron muttered.

James smirked. "Never underestimate me."

* * *

Well, that was exciting! As I was finishing the editing on this, the first HP movie came on, and I was reciting it word for word without noticing. Odd.

**If you notice any plot holes throughout the story, please, please, please point them out to me! I need to know what I've left out.**

Thanks for reading!


	26. Arlington

**Chapter 26: Arlington**

**January 10****th****, 2008.  
6:34 PM**

It had been three days since the muggles had arrived. James was going absolutely insane trying to keep himself busy. The sad truth was that there was really nothing to do. Shawn Spencer had kept things interesting as he 'read' people. The magical folk found this particularly entertaining. It also led to a problem.

"Albus," Minerva said quite calmly at dinner the third night. "Where is Sybil?"

Dumbledore's fork clattered against his plate as he sat straight up. Much to everyone's surprise, all he said was, "Damn!"

Jim and Sirius Potter cracked up and laughed hysterically. "You forgot Trelawney!" they chanted.

Lily Potter, who, like her mother, disliked the fraudulent fortune teller, said, "She should have _Seen_ this coming."

"Albus Dumbledore!" Minerva snapped, hitting his arm. "How could you? That woman is _trapped_ in the North Tower! If the Death Eaters attack, she'll be the first victim!"

James, who was at a table with Melinda Warner, Doc Robbins, Donald 'Ducky' Mallard, and Jimmy Palmer, every person in the room that made a living out of cutting open dead people, felt he should point out that attacking the North Tower would be strategically unwise for the Death Eaters, as it would split their forces unnecessarily.

Oh well.

With all of the troops, students, muggles, and teachers, there were over seven hundred people in the room. This led to needing over a hundred round tables to fit them all. The troops did not mingle with the rest; instead, they took all of the tables closest to the main doors.

The students that had been found Marked were seated together, under the close supervision of Drake and Sergeant Major Giles Morten. Between the two men, there was no way for anything except perfect behavior to occur.

Some of the students seemed reluctant to be around the muggles. In only three days, however, this had lessened somewhat. It seemed that as the muggles spoke, and showed normal intelligence, the reluctant witches and wizards warmed up to them a bit. It didn't hurt that a few of the students felt rather ignorant as the muggles spoke of their various sciences.

It was hard to believe muggles were stupid when one was faced with a muggle such as Charlie Eppes.

It was also revealed, much to the dismay of the Hogwarts staff, that the students of the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were, in fact, _teenagers_. Trapped inside a room with over three hundred peers led to friction and explosions more than once.

One memorable moment included a third year Ravenclaw, and occurred two days into their forced 'vacation'.

"What do you mean, you don't even _like_ me? We've been dating for six months!" the boy yelled. The object of his attention was another third year, a Hufflepuff girl.

"Jesus, Arnold, you're such a loser! Get over yourself!" the girl snapped.

"Oh, really? 'Loser' wasn't quite how you put it when we did it on your kitchen table, was it?" the boy demanded.

Andron, who reveled in such drama, was adding sound effects throughout the whole fight, such as, "Oh no she didn't!" and "Jer_ry_! Jer_ry_! Jer_ry_!"

"Oh, way to bring that up!" thundered the girl. "You know, you weren't even that good! Ben was better!"

A blond boy next to the Ravenclaw reddened. Apparently he was Ben. "Ben?" the first Ravenclaw boy demanded. "Ben? My best friend? That Ben? Ben, what the fuck?"

"Sorry, Dave. She was hot, though. How could I say no? She was all over me."

"I don't care if she jumped on you starkers! You're my best mate! How dare you sleep with my girlfriend!"

"I think you're taking this way too seriously, mate," Ben said. Dave looked flabbergasted.

"That's enough, boys," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Like hell it is!" snapped Dave. He decked Ben right in the nose. Professors Snape and Flitwick broke up the fight, scolding the two boys endlessly.

James had found that pretty funny, all in all. Alas, it had not been the last time a Hogwarts student let out a dirty little secret. Since then, it had been revealed that Pansy Parkinson had gotten an abortion the previous summer, several Ravenclaws had experimented with spark, an illegal potion with effects similar to speed, and Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had cheated on their OWLs.

"Dude!" Andron said at dinner that night, interrupting James' conversation with Dr. Mallard. "I love this place! It's like a soap opera and reality show all rolled into one! I am so pitching this idea to a network when I get back to work."

"Weren't you already supposed to be at work, Andy?" James asked.

"Well, yeah. But they don't pay me enough to compensate for missing this kind of drama."

"Oh, of course. I would cut off my left _arm_ to get to work, and you couldn't be bothered to miss the melodramatic teen angst. Figures."

"Hey, Potter, suck a lemon!" Andron yelled.

After dinner, most everyone remained at their tables and drank coffee and talked. "So, James," Dr. Mallard (James refused to call him Ducky) said conversationally. "Would you like to explain a 'Time-Turner' to me?"

"Alright. So, my watch," James started. He went through the principles of time travel.

"What medical repercussions would that have?" Melinda Warner asked. She was a fairly attractive middle aged woman with a skin tone close to caramel.

James suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable. He had, in fact, been feeling the effects of his constant time travel. "Muscle fatigue, exhaustion, heart strain, nausea, increased heart rate, irritability," listed James. "A few others. It shouldn't be used in excess, of course."

"So, it adds hours to a day?" Doc Robbins asked thoughtfully. "So, how many hours are in your day?"

"Between thirty-six and seventy-two," replied James. "I am very productive, though. This is the first time in a long time that I've only been in one place. It's…really odd."

Albus found himself sitting at a table with several doctors from a teaching hospital. Doctors Miranda Bailey, Meredith Grey, George O'Malley, and Cristina Yang.

Albus felt as if he had walked in on a family reunion; a family he had never met before. "So," Cristina said, taking a bite of salad, "am I a pedophile for being totally turned on by that surgery we just saw?"

"Yes," Meredith said. "He's seventeen."

"Sure, but that was hot. Did you see the way he clamped that artery?"

"Yang," Bailey said drily, "stop speaking. A few months ago, it was the trauma surgeon that did a tracheotomy with a pen, and stapled himself."

"James stapled himself," O'Malley said with a small smile.

"That was hot," Yang said with a self-assured nod.

"Perv," muttered Meredith.

"Pardon me," Albus said calmly. The surgeons looked at him expectantly. "A few weeks ago, James removed his kidney and relocated it into his friend, Drake. Is this normal?"

They continued to stare at him, before Cristina sat straight up, dropping her fork in the process. "He removed his own kidney?"

"Yes?" Dumbledore replied.

"That. . ." Cristina trailed off. "That is so bad ass. He should come work with us."

"What the hell would he do, stand around and look impressive?" Bailey asked.

"You're just upset because you don't like his attitude. And," Meredith said, her eyes sparkling, "he performed a really cool brain surgery in a parking lot."

"Shut up, Grey. That's not why I don't like him. I don't like him because he is seventeen, and he has no business in an OR. There's no way he started college at eleven, went to medical school, and did a six year residency. No way."

"James is exceptionally smart," Meredith said. "Very driven."

"He has always been that way," acknowledged Albus.

"Have you known him long?" George O'Malley asked quietly. "We usually only see glimpses of him, hopping from surgery to surgery."

"James is my oldest grandson; my heir," Albus calmly said. Their eyebrows raised. "James began reading when he was a year old. He was reading _Advanced Transfiguration and Magical Theory_ before he could actually speak most of the words. I was quite proud."

"That's very odd," Bailey said.

"James is, quite frankly, and odd person. Nothing as I imagined he'd turn out."

"How so-"

A yell cut off Meredith. "Will you shut up, you dim-witted bigot!" one of Andron's older sisters yelled. "I am sick of your magic-supremacist drivel! Get over yourself, and grow up!"

"Well," Pansy Parkinson sneered haughtily. "You sound like a m-muggleborn. Well? Are you?"

"Bitch," another sister said, in a tone that said she was just getting started, "_Shut_ up before I _fuck_ you up. Maybe you didn't notice, perhaps your head was too far up your ass, but my family doesn't exactly like ignorant, bigoted people."

"We noticed," another Slytherin girl said. "Around the time the psycho murdered that poor man."

"Ha," Andron said, throwing a baked potato at James, "you've been demoted to 'the psycho'." James caught the potato and bit it.

"It was decided that I did not murder that. . ." James grimaced. "I can not bring myself to call him a 'poor man'."

"You did kinda, you know," Andron said with a vague motion, "plunge a knife into his chest without much warning. Not that I'm complaining."

"I refuse to share my air with people such as that fruitcake."

"You know, he was exactly like you, except opposite," Andron said. "He was arrogant, felt superior, hated anybody that wasn't like him. Sound familiar?"

"He was a white-supremacist, a magical-supremacist, and an idiot. He was everything I hate. I worked _damn_ hard to get where I am. I don't try to get by on things handed to me at birth, such as skin color, magical ability, or _name_."

"You, James, are freaking weird."

"I like James," Lars Schwartz said. "Exactly the kind of kid my father would have hated."

"Andy is someone your father would have hated, dear," Ida May said shrewdly. "Your father was, after all, the liaison between Grindelwald and Hitler."

"Thanks. I had forgotten," Lars said, rolling his eyes. "Nazi prick," he muttered.

"Cheers to that," Malaki said. "Andy, I'm going to need some Hennessey to toast with."

"James' department. He covers everything including but not limited to violence, vices, murder, illicit activities, civil rights activism, and abstinence," Andron recited. "I cover record keeping, bill paying, and taxes. Fuck, I'm boring. James, how did that happen?"

"You took a right at sanity, whereas I took a sharp left," James replied without hesitation.

James was leaned back in his chair with a foot on the table, looking through a thick stack of papers. "I'll drink to that," Andron muttered. "Crazy bastard."

"Andron, the theory you came up with when were twelve-"

"Oh, _the_ theory?" snarked Andron. "Because there was only the one?"

"Besides me being from the planet Korriban," James said, glancing at Andron for a brief moment. "The one about werewolves? I was just reading… I think it could work. . ."

Without further notice, Warner, Mallard, House, Fleinhardt, and Sciuto were once again gathered around James, Andron, and a blackboard. "This is the oddest thing I've ever done," Melinda Warner said.

Abby Sciuto bit her lip. "No, I've done weirder. Do you have any caffeine?" Abby asked James.

"Um, yeah," James said. He summoned a _Caf-Pow!_ from Washington DC, expending quite a bit of magical energy. The forensic scientist, however, was ecstatic when the exceptionally large, highly caffeinated drink appeared in her hand from nowhere. "Now, finding the cure for lycanthropy will eradicate a huge portion of Voldemort's supporters. This, coupled with the possibility of discovering a vaccine, could bring much peace to the world."

"No pressure, then," Donald Mallard said dryly.

James smiled at him briefly. "Do any of you have anything to say about the material you were given to read?" he asked.

Greg House, who was persnickety at the best of times, nodded. "This," he said holding up the large stack of paper, "rules out the possibility of the… disease… being an infection."

"An infection?" Warner asked, as she tossed a glance at the grumpy diagnostician. "It seems to me to be a virus, much like HIV."

"Both are viable," James acknowledged with a nod. "The trouble with this research is that we only have three test subjects. Most people in the magical community refuse to give up their blood, even for the best of causes. Werewolves, as it is, are even more wary of such inquiries, having been oppressed all of their lives."

"Understandable, if inconvenient," Abby said with a professional nod. "It does have all the markings of a virus."

The next few hours went by in a whirlwind of action. The seven worked endlessly on a cure. Several times, it led to explosive confrontations. Abby, it seemed, was possessive about her personal work area. However, Greg House was a bit nosy and intrusive. He back off, however, when he was kicked in the nuts.

The 501st trained endlessly, and, in the opinion of most, quite viciously. The magical people, especially the adults who knew a bit about Auror training, thought it was excessive. Bones broke every few moments, blood spurted, and people shouted obscenities that even exceptionally poor-mouthed sailors would be horrified by. Considering that a fourth of the 501st were sailors, from the USMN, that was quite the accomplishment.

There was a good reason that the company James had called in was one of the most feared in the whole military. Most of the soldiers were absolutely crazy. Off their rocker. Mad. Insane. Eight of them had been charged with murder before they were sixteen. James and Drake had hand-picked the most vicious men and women to join the company, after Drake had taken charge nine years prior.

Dumbledore gathered with his group, the Order of the Phoenix, in a corner secluded from all others. Jim Potter was making wild hand motions. It was obvious from the atmosphere surrounding them that Voldemort's attack was imminent.

Observing all this, James hummed a bit and turned back to the group he was working with. "James," Warner said calmly, looking down at a piece of paper. "Did you consider that the virus affects the brain? Perhaps even alters brain chemistry?"

James raised an eyebrow, thinking. "It is a possibility."

"We don't happen to have a way to do an MRI, do we?" Warner asked without much hope. She looked around, and it was obvious that she did not like the medieval tone of the room.

James looked around, cussing quietly. "The one thing I don't keep in my truck," he said angrily. He gave a few more expressive words before he said, "This means-"

"Spellcraft!" Andron said excitedly, bouncing up and down with a huge smile on his face. Andron loved creating spells. It made his feel a bit god-like. James found it tedious.

"Hooray," James muttered. Dark thoughts of throwing Andron off of a really tall building flashed through his mind, but he ignored those. He did, however, trip his best friend as the other man walked by. Petty and childish, for sure, but satisfying.

It took six hours for Andron to come up with a spell that could reliably reproduce the effects of an MRI. In that time, he had accidentally set James' hair on fire, turned James into a table, and caused James to speak in Ancient Greek for twenty minutes. By the time the spell was ready, James was, in polite terms, absolutely incensed.

"So," Andron said cheerily, slapping James' back, ignoring the ferocious growl he received, "ready to start testing?" He didn't wait for James to reply. "Jamal, Jamil, come here, we're scanning your brain."

"Last time you said something like that," Jamal said, "I ended up with a third arm sticking out of my chest."

"I promise this won't hurt you," Andron said with a note of pleading in his voice.

"Last time you said something like _that_," Jamil said, "I broke a leg."

"Just shut up and get over here," James snapped. The twin boys walked over to Andron, eyeing him suspiciously.

James ordered Remus Lupin, both Sirius Black and Sirius Potter, Fred and George Weasley, Richard "Dickie" Stabler, his twin sister Lizzie Stabler, Olivia Benson, Meredith Grey, Gil Grissom, Shawn Spencer, Charlie Eppes, and Derrick Shepherd.

"Four sets of twins," Andron said with a nod. "Cool. Three of them identical? Now, that's weird. Half muggle, half magical. Good mix. Ready?"

"It's two in the morning," James said, still upset about being turned into a table. "Shouldn't this wait till morning?"

"Hell no. I'm on a roll."

It took Andron three hours to scan everybody, and compute the results. James, still sore over the table thing, let him plow through it himself. When the results were in, Andron looked a bit… confused.

"Well, contrary to what I would have thought, there was no difference in a muggle brain, and a wizard's brain. Except for, you know, you, because you have and exceptionally well developed frontal lobe. Now, the difference in the brain of the werewolf, and a non-werewolf was very minute. I would be able to come up with better data, if I had a larger test group. Now, my findings conclude that… there is no significant difference in the brain of a werewolf, than in the brain of a non-werewolf. At least, not enough to cause such a dramatic change. The good news is, however, we now have a spell to imitate the muggle technology of magnetic resonance imagining."

"Hooray," James muttered, rolling his eyes. He went back to the chalkboard and made some adjustments to an equation. "I think. . ."

"Cognito ergo sum," Andron said boisterously.

James got that feeling in his stomach, the one he got hen he was just about to make a revelation, and he knew e was, but it just wasn't happening, and then all of the sudden _HE HAD IT_!

Elation filled James' entire being. He wanted to dance.

Then, quick as it had come, the feeling left. James was in discovery mode. No time for dancing. In a flurry of movement, James wrote on the chalkboard in a scrawl even Andron could hardly decipher. He filled every nook and cranny of the board, before he turned to his best friend.

"You look like you've thought of something," Andron said dryly.

"I have." James grabbed the front of Andron's shirt and pulled the other man toward him, and whispered fiercely for two minutes.

When he was done speaking, James took a step back. Andron's jaw had dropped and he let out a short shriek, very reminiscent of something Shawn Spencer would do. "Holy shit, how did we not see this sooner?"

The two men set out on a mission. They did not eat or sleep for eighteen hours. At eleven, on the fourth night of their captivity, James and Andron stepped away from the table where they had been working with several dangerous chemicals and such.

Andron picked up the cup that their solution was sitting in. "What the hell did we just make?"

"Well," James said, "it's either a cure for lycanthropy, or… a poison that smells of raspberries."

"Lupin! Come here!" Andron thundered, manic excitement visible in his eyes.

"I don't think-"

James cut the haggard man off with a flick of his wrist. Lupin was pulled toward them by an invisible force, flying over the tables where several hundred interested people sat. When Lupin landed next to him, James slammed the older man onto the table. "Unluckily for you, what you think does not matter. For two reasons, actually. You signed a legally binding contract. Secondly, the Minister of Magic himself would compel you to do this; remember, you are a magical creature, not afforded the rights of humans."

"You little-" James, once more, cut Lupin off. He poured the concoction down the werewolf's throat, using a charm to make sure it wasn't spit back in his face.

"So…" Andron said, taking a step back, "what's going to happen?"

"Well, once I get him knocked out, we're cutting open his brain. That slight difference you noticed… it wouldn't be a problem, but it is located in the amygdala, and this is unacceptable," James answered. "It was, in essence, a small growth. Much like a tumor in the frontal lobe removes impulse control, a growth in the amygdala can cause irrational anger and violence."

"That would be all bad," Andron said. "But wouldn't he be irrationally angry and violent now?"

"Not at all. I think the only reason you were able to see the growth was because it is so close to the full moon's passing. I would guess that the growth is largest during the full moon, and smallest the day two weeks after one moon, and two weeks before the next."

"So, right in the middle of the cycle?" Andron asked.

"Precisely."

"So, we're cutting him open? Awesome."

"I object to this," Jim Potter said, standing up. Leave it to him to say stuff at exactly the wrong time. "Just because he is a werewolf-"

"Precisely," James said, looked up at Jim, but just barely. "What is the problem with killing one creature, for the betterment of mankind? Would you let your… emotions stop you from curing a vicious, deadly disease? Pathetic."

"Would you cut open your friends brain to cure a disease?" Jim demanded, approaching slowly, knowing that even though he was angry, James did have Lupin and could hurt him if provoked.

"What? Hell no, that's inhumane," James snapped. Jim stopped, dumbfounded.

"Are… _What_?" he asked. "How is this not inhumane?" Jim demanded, pointing to Remus, who was completely knocked out.

"I'm fairly certain that 'human' is the root word to humane," James blandly said.

"I- You! . . . You're doing this just to rile me up, aren't you?" Jim said, realization erupting across his face.

"Yes."

"Then why are you cutting him open? Isn't there a better way to do this?" Jim questioned, coming to a stop next to James and Andron. He looked wary of the scalpel in James' hand.

James smirked. "Well, I could feed him a potion, hope it works, and then find out that whatever it was we just gave him reacts to the potion, and end up with a dead wolf. Your choice."

"Dude, you're vicious," Andron said, shaking his head. "You haven't slept in like, twenty years. Take a nap before you do this."

James stabbed the unconscious Remus in the head with the scalpel. Jim gasped and lunged forward. Andron grabbed him and held him back.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" the enraged man snarled.

"I guess it just became really important for me to operate. Have you made a decision? Because I think bleeding from the general brain region… well, that's a bad thing."

"Fix him!" snapped Jim.

James smirked as he cut Lupin open. "See, the brain feels no pain at all. This would not be overly painful, even if he were awake. Now, Doctor Shepherd, could you assist me with this surgery? Doctor Torres, he has an ill-healed compound fracture in his right leg. Could you rebrake that and fix it? Doctor Bailey, Doctor Webber- Lupin is about three days from his left kidney failing. Could you remove that?"

The group of surgeons got to work quickly. Callie Torres put up her hair, and then wrapped it in a light blue surgical cap, to match light blue scrubs. She did this in the few seconds it took her to move toward them, with a practiced ease of having done it many times. Doctor Miranda Bailey did the same. Doctors Derrick Shepherd and Richard Webber used dark blue caps and scrubs.

Lupin was laid out on a metal table that Andron conjured, and he was cut open. Jim and Lily looked like they were in pain, but Sirius Black looked like he wanted to poke Remus' brain.

James closed his eyes as he continued the surgery. Lily was not quite excited. "If you're cutting open his _brain_, you could at least have the courtesy to open your bloody eyes!" the angry red head snapped.

Smirking inwardly, James conjured a large hunk of brain-looking substance in his hand. He held it up to examine it, before he tossed it to the side, toward Lily, as he said, "He doesn't need this."

Lily shrieked. Jim grimaced. Sirius poked it.

James continued for another hour. He was suturing when he felt it. His chest tightened, his breath became ragged. "James," Andron said, noticing. His voice held both warning and worry. "You are touching a man's brain. If you pass out, I assume you'll have the good sense to release him."

"I am not going to pass out," James said, his teeth gritted. "There's five minutes left of this surgery."

"Of course." Andron obviously worked hard to keep the derision out of his voice. "Four minutes."

"Mmhmm," James said. He repressed a cough that tried to force its way out.

"Want me to take over?" Andron asked as he saw the odd jerk.

"Nope," replied James. It came out choked. His vision began to blur as it became exceptionally difficult to breathe.

"James, you're wheezing," Andron said conversationally. "Three minutes. No pressure."

"Shut up," he snapped.

"What's wrong with him?" demanded Jim. He apparently didn't like the thought that a partially incapacitated man was holding a sharp object directly next to the brain of one of his best friends.

"Well," Andron said, partially turning to face the older man, "James' heart is failing."

"_What_?" Lily demanded. "How is his _heart_ failing?"

"Some time ago, James encountered a rare form of magic during a period of intensely high stress that caused a massive myocardial infarction, commonly known as a heart attack. Since then, he has suffered from a severely weakened heart, exacerbated by excessive drinking, smoking, sleep deprivation, and time travel. A few moments ago, he endured another heart attack. This has led to cardiac arrest. His heart has stopped beating," Andron explained in a bored tone. "And he's turning a bit blue. Two minutes. Think you'll make it?"

"Andron, I'm going to kill you," James said, his voice constricted.

"That's the pulmonary arrest setting in," Andron told his captive audience. "No blood is being circulated, cutting off his brain and his lungs. I assure you, he is in immense pain right now. I do believe his is alive out of sheer stubbornness."

Lily and Jim looked at each other and blankly said, "He gets that from you."

"One minute, James," Andron said.

James didn't dignify that with a response. Mostly because he couldn't.

"Forty seconds."

"Twenty seconds."

"Done yet?"

"Five seconds."

James finished and took a step back. He looked at Andron and managed to give a fairly hardy "Oorah!" before he fell to the ground.

"Is he…?" Dumbledore asked quietly, though it carried throughout the silent hall. The other surgeons continued working on Remus, but they were obviously distressed.

"Dead?" Andron finished. He was bent down next to his friend, using magic to scan his vitals. "Hmm. No pulse, no heart beat, he's not breathing, and there is no brain function."

"He's dead," Dumbledore said faintly.

Andron looked up at him. "What makes you say that? You happen to be looking at Andron 'Miracle Worker' Schwartz, buddy, and don't you forget it." Andron conjured a table under James. "If I had a dollar for every time this guy has flatlined on me. . . Doctor Yang, Doctor Grey, Doctor O'Malley, Doctor Stevens, Doctor Karev, would you be so kind as to assist me? Thank you."

Andron used magic to induce breathing and heartbeat, which was as close to stable as he would get for a while.

They worked on him for several hours. "This is the liver of a seventy year old alcoholic," Cristina Yang said as she inspected said liver. "What has he been drinking?"

"People seem to repay James' favors with bottles of expensive alcohol. He goes through about a bottle of tequila and a bottle of whiskey every day." Andron blinked. "Moving on. I think his heart can be fixed."

"Oh, good news," Meredith said. There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "I'm elbow deep in organ failure… and you _might_ be able to save the heart."

"When will you just admit that he's dead?" an older teen sitting at the Slytherin table asked. "He's not exactly worth it, is he? He's psychotic and narcissistic."

Andron turned to face the girl without moving his hands away from James' heart. He felt rage coursing through him. "You know, I won't accept that bullshit from you. James is neither psychotic, nor narcissistic. I will listen to that vile spewed in jest, but to seriously say that about my. . ." Andron looked down at James.

"Bestie?" suggested Lindsey Willows, Andron's girlfriend.

"_What_?" Andron asked as his eyes snapped to his girlfriend's.

"Bestie," she repeated as if she was speaking to a rather slow third grader. "It means your best-best friend. It means you're really close."

"Uh, sure," Andron said, turning back to the target of his rage. "I've seen James at his absolute worst… worse than this. He's seen me in mine. Four years ago, I was on the brink of an amazing discovery. When I finished what I was working on, the brewing of several dangerous potions was made easier and safer for the brewer. It took me nine months. I went long stretches of time without eating, and ten days at a time without sleep. After a long period of insomnia, I nearly murdered a salesman that came to my door. James showed up, brought the guy back to life, dumped him somewhere after wiping his memory, and then saved my life just as I was about to die of exhaustion. This was the same day he got out of a hospital after a two week stint in a coma. Psychotic, narcissistic people wouldn't have bothered. So the next person that says something like that about James…"

"He has two kidneys," Doctor Yang said. "Didn't he remove one of them?"

"Yes, but there is a potion to restore missing kidneys. You really think James was going to walk around with just one?" Andron went back to fixing James' heart, but then he looked up at the other surgeons. "Look… this is going to be one surgery that you shouldn't brag about… you know, around James."

"Why?" George O'Malley asked. Andron's eyes flicked up to him.

"Your naiveté is sweet, it is, but it might get you killed. James is going to be pissed when he wakes up. You know how they say doctors make the worst patients? Well, James, being the best of the best doctors, is the worst of the worst patients. Last time I knocked him out for surgery… well, let's just say that it was horrible."

The surgeons working on Lupin finished and cleaned him up. They stood around James' table and assisted. "What are you doing?" Lily asked, trying to see.

"Why do you care?" Andron snapped.

"Despite what he thinks, I am his mother," Lily replied sharply.

Doctor Miranda Bailey stepped forward. "Listen, I don't care if you're the mother or the Queen. You're interrupting his surgery, and that can lead to complications. So back up," the short surgeon snapped. When neither of the Potter's listened, Bailey took another step forward and gave them her patented 'Angry Bailey' look –the one that could send any hardened surgeon scurrying- and they took a few steps back. "And be quiet," she said, pointing a gloved finger at them.

It was a while later that the surgical residents stepped back. "Done," they said. James' chest and abdomen was closed up and bandaged.

"So, now we let him sleep that one off for a bit," said Andron, looking down at his friend. "He should wake in about an hour."

"Great, just in time for dinner," James' twin said. "He's such a cheery bloke; great dinner guest. It's almost like dining with Attila the Hun."

"James is _not_ that bad," Andron said aggressively.

"Are you kidding?" the young Sirius demanded. "He's frightening. He's the extreme of an extreme personality."

"I'm not going to reply to that."

A half hour later, James woke up. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the operating table. He found himself facing the doors of the hall, with his back to the students. He had no shirt on, and he looked down the stitches on his chest. "Nice suturing, Andron," James said. He stretched his spine and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it. "_Tempus_," he muttered. Smoke in front of him told him it was 6:23 PM.

He heard Andron somewhere behind him say hesitantly, "How are you feeling, James?"

"Quite fine, in fact," James replied.

From James, 'quite fine' meant 'splendid'. At least, that is how Andron took it.

"Good to hear… I think," Andron said. James turned and saw that his friend was sitting at the far end of the hall, between Charlie Eppes and Gil Grissom. "Yes James, I'm hiding. I figured these two are the ones you're least likely to hurt."

"Andron, you are the biggest coward I've ever met in my life," James said with a smile. Andron wasn't the only one that was concerned by the smile. Drake actually took a few steps back. "What?" James asked him.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're acting strangely," Drake said.

"As the much unappreciated Doctor Bailey once said, I am rising above. I am angry, but I am rising above. I am surrounded by cruel, vindictive people, but I am rising above."

"I'm cruel and vindictive?" demanded Andron, stunned. "You are pathologically angry, you know that? How's your heart rate?"

"Fifty beats a minute," replied James.

"You are inhuman," Andron said dryly. "I swear, all the wrong planets were aligned at the moment of your birth. What will it take to kill you?"

"Voldemort," Dumbledore said calmly. Andron shifted to raise an eyebrow at the old man. "The prophecy made about Harry stated, "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...._."

"What a load of bullsh-" Dumbledore cut Andron off.

"Yes, so it sounds. However, every other part of the prophecy still holds true," the venerable Headmaster calmly stated. "James was born to parents who, at the time, had thrice defied Voldemort, he was born as the seventh month, July, died at eleven fifty nine at night, and Voldemort marked him as his equal."

"Bullshit," Andron said, his eyes snapping to James. "What does that mean?"

"Of the two children that the prophecy could pertain to, Harry James Potter and Neville Francis Longbottom, Voldemort chose to kill Harry, thinking him the bigger threat."

"Funny," James said with a whimsical air, "I would have thought it was because Longbottom's parents didn't entrust their entire family to a weak minded, cowardly simpleton. But we'll go with _your_ guess," James said with his patented sarcasm. He was still looking at the door.

"Peter Pettigrew did not know which of the Potter boys was born in July and which in August," Dumbledore stated. "Voldemort chose you, James, from a family picture."

"Damn, James," Andron said with a laugh, "you must have been one threatening looking toddler!"

"I'm sure I was quite vicious," James said distractedly.

"Then why were you so panicked a minute ago," Andron questioned Dumbledore, "when you thought he was dead?"

"I had not proof that the prophecy would render James virtually immortal. All of the evidence that has recently been presented to me, however, has led me to believe that this prophecy is very specific when it says, 'Either must die at the hand of the other'."

Everybody looked to James, considering this. They thought back to the time they had known him. They had all seen him survive what they had believed to be fatal. He had been shot, stabbed, blown up, had heart attacks, cardiac arrest, several surgeries, and countless more horrific things.

The teenage prodigy, oblivious to the scrutiny, stood from the table and walked forward toward the door. He stopped about three feet away and continued staring. In one sudden, swift moment, James put all of his considerable muscle and weight behind a kick to the door. The heavy wood doors flew open into the Entrance Hall.

"Honestly, James!" Dumbledore said shortly. "I just replaced those doors!"

"My apologies," James said without sincerity, "next time, I'll leave your employee panicking in the North Tower." The short-tempered teen disappeared around the corner, presumably up the stairs.

It was obvious to everyone in the hall that Albus Dumbledore, reputed to be the best wizard of the age… was counting to ten. Repeatedly.

He stood and waved his hand, changing the five long tables in the hall to several dozen round tables. When he sat down again, the seating arrangement had changed. On his right was Severus Snape. On his left was a man that introduced himself as Jethro Gibbs, Special Agent with the Naval Criminal Investigative Services. To that man's left was Detective Elliot Stabler, with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. On Severus' right was Henry Spencer, retired Santa Barbara Police Sergeant.

"So, Mr. Stabler, what is it that you do?" Albus asked. Albus skimmed his surface thoughts without thinking. They screamed the word 'Detective!', quite noticeably. "I'm sorry, is it Detective Stabler?"

The man nodded and gave a small smile. "Yes, it is. What do I do? I specialize in special victims, such people who have been raped, sexually assaulted, children who have been abused and molested."

"Is it a common crime?" Albus asked, quite intrigued. "To devote a whole department to it…"

"Unfortunately, it is quite common," Elliot said. "With the rate of people getting out of jail and reoffending, sometimes it seems there're more criminals than good guys."

"Pardon me… reoffending?" Albus asked. He was absolutely baffled. "Why would you let such a criminals out on the streets?"

"Well, rapists are rarely convicted for life, unless it is an extreme circumstance of many rapes committed," Elliot answered.

Albus blinked. "Oh. Oh, dear. In the Wizarding world, committing a rape is one of the ultimate no-no's. If a prisoner gets life in prison after committing rape, it is a light sentence. On several occasions, I have sentenced men to the Dementor's Kiss."

Three men stared at him. "We have no idea what that is," Henry Spencer said. He was much more straight-forward and serious than his son, Shawn, was.

"Forgive me, I am quite old and tend to forget things. A Dementor is a creature that feeds off of positive emotions; it drains the happiness out of a person. These creatures guard our prison, and keep the prisoners in a state of extreme depression; most of them go insane. When a Kiss is administered, a Dementor sucks the soul out of the prisoner, leaving them a shell."

"Harsh," Henry said without much conviction.

"Does a rapist not do the same to their victim?" Albus asked.

"Well, I don't disagree with the practice," Elliot said. "Less than ten years for that kind of a crime?" He shook his head in disgust.

Conversation progressed for several minutes, until Albus asked the men if they had any children. "Just Shawn," Henry answered. His eyes automatically sought out his son, and when they caught sight of him, Albus was sure he saw a glimmer of amusement in the man's otherwise stern face.

"I have five kids," Elliot said.

"Only four are here, though?" Albus questioned.

"Our oldest daughter, Maureen, is at college. James has never met her before. Our four youngest are here with us; Kathleen, Dickie, Lizzie, and Eli," said Elliot. Albus could tell that the man was very proud of his family.

"And you?" Albus asked, nodding to Gibbs.

"No kids. Three ex-wives, though," Gibbs said.

"You're lying," Severus said in his usual dark tone. He had a small smirk playing about his lips. "So, just how many bastard children do you have? Did you bed a woman below your stature, and wake up with post-coital regret?"

Gibbs stared at the sallow skinned man for a moment before, in a flash, he reached his left arm across Albus, grabbed the front of Severus' robes, and hauled him across the table. With Severus as good as lying on the table, Gibbs punched him square in the face.

"Lying, am I?" Gibbs demanded. "I had a daughter. Eighteen years ago, I was deployed in Desert Storm. I left behind my wife and eight-year-old daughter, Kelly. While I was deployed, a Mexican drug cartel killed my wife and daughter. He blew them up; there was not enough left of them for me to bury. So no, I do not have any children," Gibbs said coldly.

"Gibbs!" James' strong voice rang out as he suddenly appeared at the door. "I have a job for you. You were a sniper, right? Well, come on, gunny, I haven't got all day!"

"What do you need me to do?" Gibbs asked, his fist still cocked for a second punch.

"First, punch him again, because he's a prick. Second, I need your sniper expertise, in that I think I see some people that need sniping," James replied.

"I don't have a gun," refuted Gibbs.

James raised his hands, and a rifle appeared. "Marine M-40A1 Sniper Rifle with hand-loaded Lapua 308 boat tail, full metal jacket, and moly-coated rounds?" James asked in a bored tone. "Holy crap, I happen to have one right here. Now, for the love of justice, hurry up!" James tossed the gun to Gibbs, who caught it deftly.

"Who, exactly, needs sniping?" Gibbs asked as he approached James.

"Some Death Eaters trying to bust down the gates to the school," James casually replied.

"What is a Death Eater?" asked Gibbs.

A few of the magical children snickered. James replied, "Terrorists that torture muggles and children for fun." He knew that would catch Gibbs' attention.

Gibbs said nothing as he followed James to the Astronomy Tower. The students in the hall watched as, a few moments later, Sybil Trelawney walked in, glaring at Albus Dumbledore. "How _dare_ you!" she howled. "I was trapped up there for _days_! I was so distraught, I lost touch with the Inner Eye!"

For the briefest moment, Dumbledore looked like he wanted to cry.

James and Gibbs were on the Astronomy Tower, looking down at the gates of Hogwarts. James was telling Gibbs everything he knew of Death Eaters, starting with the story of Frank and Alice Longbottom. "In the Wizarding world, the Army, Marines, FBI, CIA, and NSA are all rolled into one division called the Aurors. They are the elite. It takes top grades and three additional years of schooling to become an Auror. Now, several years ago, three Death Eaters tortured two Aurors into insanity."

"What?" Gibbs asked.

"They used a spell that caused so much pain, and they used it for so long, that the minds of the two Aurors completely unraveled. The Aurors were a married couple; their son, Neville, is in the Hall."

"Why do they do this?" Gibbs asked.

"They are blood supremacists," answered James. "They think Muggles, such as yourself, are below them. They think that people with magic should rule over muggles." James explained about muggleborns, halfbloods, bloodtraitors, and purebloods. He gave a brief history of the war that was being fought.

"So, it's not true that purebloods are more powerful?" the Marine sniper asked.

"Definitely not," replied James. "The most powerful wizard alive right now is Albus Dumbledore, and his mother was muggleborn. These people are just extremists."

"What do we do?" Gibbs asked. James aimed, fired, and scored a headshot. One of the Death Eaters hit the ground with a spray of blood. The others looked around, frantic.

Gibbs followed suit. Within a minute, all eight Death Eaters lay dead on the ground. They returned to the great hall, talking quite amiably.

Andron greeted them with, "You do know that you two hate each other, right?"

"Hunting is a strong bonding experience," James deadpanned.

"What happened?" asked Andron.

"Eight dead Death Eaters and a partridge in a pear tree," said James.

"You're in an excessively good mood," Andron said, a bit concerned.

"That is explained by the fact that for the last several weeks, I've had a deep feeling of dread… and now it is gone. I mean, come on man, lighten up! We just cured a deadly disease!" James said with an actual, genuine smile.

"Dude, you are freaking me out!" Andron complained. "For the last eight months you've been nothing but a curmudgeon!"

"Wait, you mean, he's _not_ always like _that_?" Sirius Potter demanded. "He's not always mentally unstable?"

Gil Grissom jumped in with, "I've always known James to be a bit withdrawn, but otherwise kind and genial." The scientist continued, "Actually, he is a lot like Greg." He turned to Greg Sanders, who sat between Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown. Everyone looked at the young man with a tight band tee and wildly unruly light brown hair. He smiled charmingly.

James' brother wasn't convinced. "That's absolutely frightening."

Andron looked to James. "When is Lupin supposed to wake up, you think?" James glanced at his watch, then at the charmed sky, then at the man lying unconscious on a table in the corner. "This is not reassuring."

"Oh, I was just trying to decide _if _he was going to wake up. This is an experimental procedure, you know," James said vaguely. Jim threw a potato at him, hitting him in the chest. "Fine. We should be able to wake him up in about an hour."

Cots were arranged in the hall later that night. Lupin had been woken up and been tested thoroughly. After that, he was given a sleeping potion and sent to bed.

James stayed up late into the night talking with several members of the 501st. They agreed on several important pre-battle things such as positions and command.

**Jan. 12, 2008.  
8:15 AM**

The atmosphere of the Hall during breakfast was a bit tense. "What do we do with the students?" Andron asked across the hall to James, who was drinking coffee.

"Lock them in a big room with the staff," the dark haired teen replied. "Keep them out of the way. None of them die."

"Sounds good. Which room? Is there one big enough?" Andron asked. Both ignored the furious protests of the students around them.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore said suddenly. He was sipping tea, and to those around him, it had looked as though he had barely been paying attention. It was a method he had perfected over a hundred years.

"Please tell me that you just made up that name," deadpanned Andron. "That's almost as bad as the 'Great Hall'."

Dumbledore smiled. "A thousand years ago, one of the founders of the school, Salazar Slytherin, built a secret chamber far below the school. It was a place where he could perform experiments he did not think the other three would approve of. It is where he left his basilisk. Five years ago, the creature was unleashed on the school. A miraculous series of fortunate events led to the slaying of the basilisk and closing of the chamber."

"Yeah, _great_ idea, Grandpa," Sirius said sarcastically. "It only takes a _parselmouth_ to open the chamber."

"Where is it?" Andron demanded.

"The second floor girl's loo," Sirius replied with an eye roll. "The entrance is one of the faucets, the one with a snake on the side."

James and Andron looked at each other, before they bolted out the door. They left confusion in their wake. "What was that?" several people asked.

Meanwhile, the two smartest men in the castle were on their way into the Chamber of Secrets. Andron used a cleaning charm instantly upon hitting the bottom. "This is disgusting," he said. "Could at least clean up a bit. Disgraceful."

They spent several hours cleaning up the mess of rat carcasses and filth. It was exceptionally easy to do so with magic. They found the decaying body of the basilisk and used a portkey to send it to a private lab that they leased together.

Mildly exhausted, they ascended the treacherous slope back to the second floor of the castle. They strode back to the Great Hall, on the ground floor, and right up to Dumbledore, who remained seated at the center of the Staff Table. James got the odd feeling that Albus Dumbledore would be there in that seat until the end of time, just sitting there, watching over the students of Hogwarts.

James pressed his knuckles on the table and leaned just slightly toward the old man. "Well," he said, "we've got the place cleaned up and sparkly. I would suggest moving the students there soon. You do not want to wait until Voldemort is storming the school."

Dumbledore nodded, looking James in the eye. He smiled just slightly. "Right after dinner. Are you joining us?" Albus asked calmly.

"Of course."

Albus stood and waved a hand. Once more, several round tables were situated around the room, and people were randomly placed in seating assignments only the Headmaster could decipher. As always, the professional soldiers were kept together, in a bunch to the right of the door, on the side where the Slytherins usually sat.

James was seated with Nate Ford, Michael Weston, Fiona Glenanne, Ziva David, and Colby Granger. They introduced themselves casually. The odd circumstances brought out the truth, where otherwise it would have been hidden.

"I'm Michael Weston. I was a spy, until I was blacklisted," the man said. He was of average height and weight, with dark hair and a cynical look.

"Fiona Glenanne," the woman to Michael's left stated. "Former IRA operative. Explosives expert," she said. She was exceptionally skinny. Not yet forty, though years of a high-stress career had taken its toll.

To her left, a man with short, dirty blond hair and a thick, powerful body sat looking contemplative. "Agent Colby Granger, FBI. Former Army. Former triple agent, Chinese spy."

The slender Israeli woman to Colby's left looked around at them and said, "Officer Ziva David, Mossad Liaison Officer to NCIS."

To her left sat a man that had somewhat messy hair and a rather unkempt appearance. "Nathan Ford. I was an insurance fraud investigator. Now my team and I pull cons to expose criminals," he said.

James, between Michael Weston and Nathan Ford, looked around at them. "Which is good. I have an idea. I need help from all of you. Tell me, Ford… have you ever impersonated a wizard?"

The man tilted his head a bit. "I impersonated a magician. Does that count?"

"Close enough."

After dinner, and a very interesting discussion, James organized moving the students to the Chamber of Secrets. Ten students at a time, accompanied by ten soldiers. Slytherin first years went first. Then Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and finishing with Gryffindor. Then the second years left.

It took two hours to get all of the students out. The seventh years were allowed to choose to remain. Most did. The muggles that could not, or would not, fight were moved to the Chamber of Secrets. That group included Stabler's family, Charlie and Alan Eppes (who was a conscientious objector during Vietnam), Abby Scuito, and the doctors.

The room was set up as best as possible to accommodate the hundred or so people that remained, bar the soldiers. They lined up around the walls, and played cards, drank, and talked.

The others sat around and waited for Dumbledore to say something. The old man looked around, and nodded to James. "James has devised a plan. We expect Voldemort to show up here in person in the next week."

"Good," Malaki said, "because if I'm here during Super Bowl, this whole damn castle is going down."

James chose to ignore him. "Voldemort is going to try to contact us. He will do it to scare us. But we need not worry. We have Gregory Knudsen, internationally ranked Master Duelist from Germany, fifteen time champion of the World Classic Dueling Tournament."

"We do?" Minerva McGonagall asked, as she looked around.

"Yes," Ford said, standing up with a bow. He gave everyone a dangerous look.

"You're a muggle," Jim said dumbly, staring between Nate and James. "He's a muggle."

"Voldemort does not know that," James said briskly. He went on, "We also have Maneek Zan, Master Warder from an undisclosed location. He is reputed to have warded more than four dozen top secret government buildings around the world."

Alec Hardison, a young dark-skinned man, stood and gave a slight nod before he sat down again. In reality, he was a computer specialist, and an expert hacker.

"And we have Anje Novik, a Russian intelligence expert, and her muscle, Jon." Sophie Devereaux and Eliot Spencer stood. She was middle aged and olive-skinned, with medium length dark hair. He was big-muscled, with shoulder length hair tied back. He looked dangerous.

"On top of that, we have Annette Rosa, British Hit Wizard of great fame," James finished. Parker, who went by her surname only, stood with an intense look. She glanced around, and sat stiffly.

"James," Jim said slowly. "How are you going to convince Voldemort that these people are who you say they are? What about the people they're impersonating?"

"I chose the people I did, because I know these people. A few months ago, they each sent me a sample of their hair in case I needed it. I will alert them that I am using it, and they will go into hiding until further notice."

"So," Sirius Potter said, "You just store hair from various people, until you need to use it?"

"Yes," James said without hesitation. "It is useful. Now, Voldemort will see these people, and the soldiers, and know that we are not going to be frightened of him."

"Speak for yourself," Fred Weasley said. "Voldemort is terrifying. He's all snakey and hissy and murdery."

"Stop speaking," James snapped. He looked around and continued, "The muggles do not have the power of magic, obviously. They are going to stay back, and use guns. There is a charm to stop physical projectiles, but it takes concentration. And it does not protect against spell damage. Now, the ultimate plan is to kill Voldemort."

"Duh," James' brother said. "What are you, _new_? Jeez! That's what we've been doing for years!"

"Shut up," James said sharply. "As I was saying, the ultimate goal is to kill Voldemort. The secondary goal is to kill every Death Eater we can find."

"No," Albus said firmly. "We capture, we do not kill them. Voldemort is the only murder I approve of."

James gave him a look. He and Andron stood up, along with Drake. James pointed his wand at Drake. "_Avada_-"

"_Stupefy_," Drake said, dropping James.

"_Enervate_," Andron said. James sprang up, wand pointed at Drake.

"_Avada_-" Drake stunned him again. Once more, Andron revived him. They did this twice more.

"Obviously," James said as they sat down, "stunning your enemy is useless. A live enemy is a dangerous enemy."

"It's called necessary use of lethal force," Carlton Lassiter said seriously.

"It's called immoral," Albus rebutted. "Killing is killing."

"They are murderers, and rapists, and _**dog killers**_!" thundered James. "Half of the criminals that are going to show up here have already been in prison, and were broken out! They've done the legal system thing! Now, I'm all for justice. I've taken more than my share of criminal justice classes. As it is, when somebody is shooting at me, I'm sure as hell going to shoot back!"

"I second that," Lassiter said firmly.

"Me too," Colby Granger said.

"Yep," Jim said.

Albus looked pained. "Fine! Fine. I want everyone to make absolute certain that the person you murder is a Death Eater."

"Kill, Old Man," James said sternly. "Murder is the unlawful killing of one human by another, especially with premeditated malice. Killing is causing death. Now, you always kill when you murder, but you do not always murder when you kill. Do not try that backhanded guilt trick. Killing Death Eaters is completely lawful."

"This is going to take a lot of use of force paperwork," deadpanned Elliot Stabler.

**The Next Morning****  
1/13/08  
7:42 AM**

As everyone was waking up and drinking coffee, Hagrid the half giant entered the hall. He was wearing a moth-eaten coat and held a deadly looking cross bow.

He explained that Voldemort was at the gate with a ton of Death Eaters.

A few of the wizards began to panic, but James yelled for silence. "Running around like a bunch of headless chickens," he muttered, disgusted. "Old Man, you've got some aurors that report to you, right? Well, call them in. We might need them," the younger man said.

Chatter rose to the point of uncontrollable. Andron said something to quiet everyone, and most people either looked to James or Albus. It was very odd to see who looked to which leader. Most of the Gryffindors in the room looked to Dumbledore, while most of the Slytherins looked to James. The muggles all looked at Andron, being the only ones to realize that he had called everyone 'blueberry wazzlewacks'.

"What the. . .?" Gus asked. Shawn Spencer looked at his best friend with a raised eyebrow. "Sounded like something you would say."

James spoke before Dumbledore. "So, the boogeyman has decided to show up. Awesome. Everybody know what they're doing?" James asked. He looked around and saw nods of confirmation and blank stares.

"We're all dead," Andron said.

An hour later, everything had been explained to the slower of the group.

Everybody was put into place. Sirius Potter, who had lobbied and whined to be allowed to stay, was arguing that he should be allowed to fight at the front lines. James shut him up with swift denial.

The anticipation filled the hall. No one could sit still. That wasn't saying much for James, who rarely ever sat still. Some people paced, some fidgeted, some broke into arguments.

As James had predicted, Voldemort made contact through an owled letter. It was addressed to James, much to the surprise of Dumbledore. The missive contained veiled threats and a direct declaration of war, should James refuse to surrender.

"Bitch, what do I care?" James asked, crumpling the letter. "These aren't my people, and this isn't my home." He looked to the anxious soldiers. "Assemble the marked students. Butch… ready to play?"

The students bearing the Dark Mark were dragged back into the hall. James used an experimental method of communication to contact Voldemort. Some geeks in Nowhere, Nebraska, or something had gotten the idea from Star Wars.

A 'holographic' image of Voldemort appeared before James, just as an image of James appeared before Voldemort. The red-eyed dark lord looked somewhat surprised for a moment. "What is this?" Voldemort demanded.

"A… negotiation," James said. "You have a few followers with you, it's cute, really. Now, I have the children of many of those followers here in this castle, bound and gagged and ready to die. You back off, or we kill them, one by one."

Voldemort smirked. "Dumbledore would condone no such thing," he said.

"Butch! Bring that squirrelly one here!" Butch, a six-foot-four man of huge musculature, dragged a Hufflepuff toward James. James adjusted the spell so that Voldemort could see the additional two men… and so could all of his followers. "Kill him."

Butch threw the boy down on his knees. He raised a butchers knife and brought it down to the back of the teens head, splitting his skull and separating the two hemispheres of his brain. Squirrelly Boy didn't have time to scream. The burly Marine dragged him away.

"That was Butch, born Alan Boon. At sixteen, he murdered his entire family; twelve people. Middle of the night, just said 'fuck this shit' and killed them all. He did some time in prison, sure. No justice system is perfect, however," James said with a smirk. "He got out at twenty-one. Likes killing people. Next!"

Butch dragged another teen forward. Voldemort watched impassively. "What is the point of this?" the man asked.

"Not even concerned we're killing your followers?" James asked.

"I have more."

"As you say." The next kid got his head split in two; that one went all the way into the spine.

Two more kids were killed, and then Draco Malfoy was dragged forward. However, the blond was not scared silent. "Master! Will you not help?" he demanded. When Voldemort simply stared at him, the boy looked enraged. "How dare you! I served you faithfully! I am a Malfoy!"

"Butch!" ordered James.

"No!" Lucius Malfoy had stepped forward into the range of the spell.

"Malfoy!" barked Voldemort. "You will desist!"

"That is my son!" argued the aristocratic blond.

"I do not care."

James smirked and ended the spell. "James, I told you I would try not to interfere, but there are four dead bodies on my floor," Dumbledore said.

"No there isn't."

"James, I'm looking at them!"

"Marvins," answered James. The four 'bodies' turned into identical mannequins. 'Malfoy' did the same.

Andron freaked out. "Holy shit, man! Holy _shit_! You just- fuck, how the fuck- what the fuck- who the fuck- _fuck_."

"After all this time, you all still think me capable of cold-blooded murder?" asked James.

"Stop messing with us!" Andron snapped. "Do it, or don't! Enough of this 'I killed him, psych- no I didn't' _bullshit_! Where are the kids you didn't just kill?"

"Right here," James said. He waved his hand and the students became visible, huddled on their knees by the door. They were gagged, but it was obvious that they were trying to yell. "Right as rain. Now, on to business, now that Voldemort thinks we've totally lost it. Right, Marines," James barked. "Move out." Twenty-five men and women in full battle gear surged out of the room, led by Butch. They were wearing camouflage and black face paint.

"Air Force," yelled Drake as he stepped forward. "To the turrets!" Twenty-five men and women filed out quickly.

"Army Special Forces," called James. Four men and one woman stood at attention. "Search and destroy." They left at a jog; the only group not wearing helmets.

"Navy SEALs!" Drake's yell brought five men to attention. "Search and destroy."

"Army Rangers! Why don't you go give the Death Eaters a taste of war?" James ordered. Six men left the room, shouting something or other.

"Navy! That's a mighty fine lake out there!" thundered Drake. The remaining twenty men and women of the Navy filed out.

"Army!" The fourteen men and women that remained snapped to attention. "Flank them." They filed out at James' command.

James turned to Andron's family. "You people are going to play sentry."

"What the fuck is a sentry?" Malaki asked.

"A door guard. Take this map, and each of you cover one entrance to the castle." They left, looking at the map speculatively. "Colby, you know what to do." Colby Granger put on a pair of sunglasses as he left the hall. James also directed Michael Weston and Fiona Glenanne out the door to set up explosives.

Nate Ford's group was assembled and took their respective potions. James figured that Voldemort would make one more attempt at contact.

He was right. Fifteen minutes later, the self-styled Dark Lord did make contact once more. James initiated the same spell as before, and this time included Nate, Sophie, Parker, Hardinson, and Elliot in the field of view.

After introducing his cohorts, James found negotiations to be non-existent. Voldemort was somewhat cowed, but went to great lengths to not show it. The man had no way to know that the Hogwarts forces numbered at more than two hundred.

James smirked as Voldemort walked away, out of the radius of the spell.

The young mastermind opened communication with all the units via specialized radio. "So, anyone got words?" James asked.

A thick voice replied, "Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever."

Another voice intoned, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me."

James grinned and said, "I guess that says it all. Is everybody ready?"

He received several variations of, "OORAH," and "HOORAH".

"Well, let's go kill them all. Attack on three. Butch?"

"Onetwothree!" Butch yelled. "Mess with the best, die like the rest!"

"OORAH!" several other voices thundered.

James turned to his people. "Stabler, Gibbs, you know what you're doing?" he asked.

The two Marines nodded. They left the hall with determination.

Ziva David walked toward James with her usual understated menacing look in her eyes. "You have failed to assign me something to do," she said matter-of-factly. Her stance told James that he was going to be hurt if he did not rectify the situation.

He gave her his most disarming smile. "Officer David, I had to let all the tough guys out of here so they did not hear your part of the plan. It would do us no good if I destroyed their sensitive male egos before a fight."

"Sensible. What am I to do?" Ziva asked.

"At this moment, three Death Eaters are attempting to gain entrance through that tunnel I happened to show you the other day. I need you to kill them," James said simply.

"How are they armed?" the Mossad Officer asked.

"Only with wands," James replied with a smirk.

Ziva gave a confident nod, and in her slight accent said, "Then they are already dead." As she walked out of the hall, the Israeli woman tied up her hair.

Sirius Potter spoke up next. "So, this is cool and all, but when do _we_ get to fight?"

James put on a thoughtful look and tapped his chin. "Oh, dear. How about when all of the Death Eaters are dead?"

Andron threw his arms in the air. "Amen to that, my brother. The last thing we need is to explain to the ministry how we got all of their people killed."

James walked toward Drake, muttering, "Last thing I need is people asking why I killed them on purpose…"

"Is everything set, James?" Drake asked.

"I will call out," the young man said. "Roll call!" he bellowed, startling many people.

"Two wounded!" Butch answered immediately. "But we are all in place."

"One man down, no fatalities. We're in place," another said.

All in all, everyone was in place. "Good," James said, "Attack."

As planned, the attack of the Death Eaters occurred from all sides. The men and women of the armed forces had surrounded them, invisibly, and attacked with killing curses. It took the Death Eaters several precious moments to figure out what was going on, and by then, many were dead. The remaining minions fled; the more loyal among them charged the castle itself.

Those that managed to avoid the claymores and the snipers made it to the front door. Most of them would wish a sniper had gotten them.

Waiting at the front door was Jethro Gibbs and Elliot Stabler.

The few that managed to slip by them, in hopes of finding the Headmaster, or one of their Lord's other targets, instead found the Headmaster, and ALL of their Lord's targets. And many others, as well.

The one they had only heard stories of, the one that had humiliated their Lord, was standing on front of all of them.

It was then that these Death Eaters, lost misguided men that they were, knew true fear. Their Lord's wrath had been a poor facsimile in comparison to the outright rage in the teenager's eyes.

Which was not at all lessened when the young adult said, "Ello, Cupcake!"

Stanley Beck was not usually a fighter. Before he had practically been conscripted by the Dark Lord, he had owned a bookstore in a small village. His companion, who was also not a fighter, was persistently hitting Stan's chest with the back of his hand. "Stan, Stan, Stan! That's James Potter!"

"I know that, idiot!"

"We're going to die! We're going to die!"

More of their comrades gathered behind them, having escaped the two crazy men at the door with most of their limbs intact.

Stan and his friend dropped their wands and raised their hands. "We surrender!"

James watched several people gather in front of him, and he watched as the first two to reach him panicked. They dropped their wands in surrender. James then smirked as he raised his hand. "_Avada Kedavra_." Drake felled the other man in the front with the same curse.

"I give no quarter," snarled Drake, starting on the remaining men.

A bit earlier, Ziva David was busy stalking her pray. Or, following three men silently as she waited to viciously kill them one-by-one. The former sounded less grisly, however.

As each fell a bit behind, she approached. The first man, she plunged a knife into his back, through his lung, and into his heart. The second's neck was snapped. When the third turned to find what had happened to his companions, she shot him in the heart.

Satisfied her task was done, Ziva carefully made her way back to the large room. When she got to the staircase that let to the dining hall, she saw a group of men, enemies, standing there. Two green lights flashed from the hall, and two of the men fell dead.

As the enemy began firing back, Ziva took cover at the top of the stairs and fired. She managed four head-shots before she was out of bullets. She somewhat regretted having fired several shots toward Tony earlier that week.

James saw several enemy combatants taken out by bullets fired from the stairs, and smirked. Ziva was near, then.

Ziva, Gibbs, and Stabler reentered the hall with grim looks. "A second wave just appeared at the gates, Potter, but it seems that the Marines were waiting for them. There was quite the fight out there."

"Now our only problem," Andron said, "is where Voldemort got off to."

James used a charm to move the three muggles behind him, toward Dumbledore, when he felt the approach of the aforementioned Dark Wizard.

Voldemort, flanked by Lucius Malfoy, Walden McNair, Theodore Nott, and a few others, swept into the room as if he owned it, and considering his lineage, he probably thought he did. "So, this is the lauded Light Side," sneered Voldemort. "Muggles, mudbloods, bloodtraitors, and _you_." Voldemort indicated James with contempt.

"Halfblood," supplied James, unnecessarily.

"Delightful. I will enjoy breaking you. I have waited a long time to kill you and your family-"

"Bitch, what is with this long drawn out pre-victory speech?" demanded Andron. "Don't you know that, just like in all the bad movies, you're giving us the time we need to kill you? Hubris, asshole."

Voldemort looked completely taken aback. "Who are you to speak to me like this?"

"Who are you to speak to me at all?" demanded Andron.

Voldemort raised his wand and spoke, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Lars Schwartz grabbed Andron and pulled his son behind him. The killing curse hit him square in the chest. He fell to the ground, as his sons that remained in the hall charged forward. They were stopped by a shield that did not allow them to get within fifteen feet of Voldemort.

"You see now what it means to oppose me. Now see how bad it will be." Voldemort moved swiftly from the room, waving his arm as he left.

A hundred more Death Eaters appeared in the room, as the dozens of men and women of the armed forces entered. The Death Eaters were surrounded, but they had not been fighting at all. Butch and his men were close to exhausted. It had only been an hour or two, but they had expended quite a bit of magic.

The fighting began in earnest. Sirius Potter was ecstatic. Until, of course, he was sent to the ground by the cruciatus curse.

Lucius Malfoy shocked everyone by turning his wand on his fellow Death Eaters. He dropped three of them as he roared, "He was going to let them murder my son!"

Lucius was slammed into a wall by a blasting curse, though he was still breathing.

It took a surprisingly long time to get through even most of the Death Eaters.

When there were only three left, Voldemort swept back in with a few dozen more.

"Where the fuck do these things come from? Are you cloning them?" James yelled. He could not figure out where Voldemort had found more than fifteen hundred supporters.

Dumbledore was faring well, at least. He was fending off four Death Eaters and had only minor injuries.

The muggles were doing surprisingly well. Many of them had some degree of hand-to-hand combat training, of which the Death Eaters had none. As soon as the dark wizards were wandless, the muggles had the upper hand. Elliot Stabler, who had been a football player in high school, tackled most of his opponents to the ground, nearly crushing them.

Eliot Spencer was quite killed in mixed martial arts, and therefore left his opponents unconscious, if not dead.

Shawn Spencer, who had been missed in their removal of all liabilities, was by far the most entertaining thing in the hall. Every time a Death Eater approached him, Shawn screamed like a girl and ran away. At one point, he had eight unarmed Death Eaters chasing him, but Stabler and Gibbs had taken most of them down. Then, Shawn ran right into somebody, and started the most unreal catfight James had ever seen. What made it better was that the Death Eater participated.

James attacked Voldemort with reckless abandon. He thought of Lars, and his dogs, and the fact that the Dark Lord was the reason his family had given him up. James, who was muscle and blood glued together with anger and hate, used every dirty trick he'd ever even heard of as he attacked.

He gained the upper hand as he bombarded Voldemort. The Dark Lord went crashing to the ground as he was struck by a spell like a concussion grenade. James pulled out a hunting knife (mentioning 'from where' might be indecent), and went to town.

Andron finished off the Death Eater he had been dueling with a single shot to the forehead. He looked over and saw his best friend in his element. He was flaying Voldemort alive.

Gruesome.

Kinda cool, though.

He looked around again and saw several men and women of James' company fallen. They were distinctive because of the American flags that covered their bodies. After involvement in the Vietnam war, the American Magical government began issuing miniscule flags to each soldier, to be affixed to their dog tags. At the moment of death, the flag would enlarge to full size and cover the body. It could only be moved by someone who knew the proper spell, so American soldiers could not be buried and lost. The flag also had tracking spells on them, so their activation would alert the base.

About a dozen such flags were spread around the room.

As action quieted down, several military chaplains moved to the fallen soldiers and spoke over them.

Several muggles had been badly wounded, but it did not appear that they had suffered any fatalities. Shawn Spencer was nursing a severe slap wound. A few others had burns and gashes.

Sirius Potter and Sirius Black had both been subjected to the cruciatus curse, and were recovering slowly. Jim Potter was bleeding heavily from his abdomen, but would live. Lily Potter was a large bruise on the side of her face, but was otherwise fine.

Andron looked to his own family. His mother was by his father's side, not weeping, but tears were falling down her face. His brothers were scattered about. Maleek was kicking a dying Death Eater without remorse, and Malaki was attempting to comfort their mother. Malaki was not so great at the comfort thing, however. He was awkwardly patting her back and saying things such as, "He's, uh, in a better place," and "You get all his money now." One of his sisters pushed him away and took his place.

The chaplains removed the flags that covered the bodies, and Andron nearly fell over when he saw Drake under one of them. James would be distraught, not that he would show it, but at least they could be comforted knowing Drake had gone out how he had always wanted.

Seriously, he had told them that he wanted to be blasted apart by enemy fighters while defending people that could not defend themselves. Odd man. Good man, of course, but very odd.

Two days after the fall of Voldemort (who's head was on a spike outside of Hogwarts, sans skin), all of the muggles had been sent home. James refused to allow them to have their memories modified, unless they specifically requested in, which none did. He felt that since they had risked their lives to save people they had never met, they deserved to remember it, at least.

James and Andron made enough of the werewolf cure to cure all of the werewolves in Great Britain, and they refused to allow the Ministry to profit, and they refused to charge the werewolves. The Ministry wished to charge a fee to the werewolves, something about expenses. It was all James could do not to slap them. They also gave some of the credit to Severus Snape, who had died in the final showdown.

The two men were cleaning out their quarters when a soft sound at the door caused them both to look up. Dumbledore was standing there, his hand bandaged, with a sad look. Andron excused himself to another room, but James and Dumbledore barely noticed.

"So, you're leaving," the old man said.

James smiled. "Very perceptive. Work that out by yourself?"

Dumbledore ignored his comment and continued without looking at James. "Will you be, ah, are you going to…"

"I'll see you again, of course," James said, cottoning on. "I mean, how else am I going to get the fifteen years worth of birthday and Christmas presents you owe me?"

The older man laughed and pulled James into a hug. "I was sorry to hear about the loss of your friend," Dumbledore said. "He and I never got along, but he meant a lot to you."

James shrugged a bit. "I knew Drake's time was coming. He was an old man, and completely reckless. It was one of the reasons I did not want you fighting. Losing both of you would have been devastating."

"You knew that he was going to pass in that fight?" asked the Headmaster.

The scientist shook his head. "No. He and I both had a feeling, though. We discussed it the day before the fight. I loved the man dearly, and I will miss him, but I will move on."

"It eases my mind to know that he was there for you." Left unsaid was, _while I was not. _James knew what he meant, though.

As the two teenagers were leaving the castle, James' parents approached him and asked to talk. Once more, Andron left them alone. He really did not want to talk to them, but he figured he could soldier through it for them. Call it his good deed for the day.

"James," Lily said quietly as they sat down at one of the tables in the Great hall, with James on one side and them on the other, "We just wanted you to know that…" she looked to her husband, who looked petrified. Figuring he wouldn't be any help, the redhead continued, "Well, we know you don't like us that much. But, if you ever need anything, anything at all, research funding or a safe house if you're on the run from the law, we're here for you. No questions asked. We want you to know that we love you."

James couldn't help the small derisive chuckle that bubbled up.

"Yeah," Jim said, "we weren't there for you. We'll never forgive ourselves for that. But these last few months we've been around you, you've grown on us. Sure, you're a little mean, a bit rude, and you drink a lot. Lily has terrible morning-breath. We all have our prob- OW!" Lily had punched Jim in the arm. He mock glared at her as he continued. "We may not be your parents as the term is usually defined, but we still want to get to know you better. What do you say? Could you give us that chance?"

As he looked at them, James knew he had two options. He could say no, leave then, and never speak to them again.

But was that what he wanted? As a small child, James had wanted a family. At least someone to come home to at the end of a day, that would be there with a smile. He had given up on that hope by the time he was five, and forgotten it by seven. Yet, what if he could have it? At least have people to talk to, that cared about him. Sure, he had Andron, but Andron was too much like him to be much help.

He took a deep breath and said, "I'll try. Don't expect the Brady Bunch, but I work on not hating you two as much." He checked his watch. "I have to go. I'll be in touch."

James and Andron departed Hogwarts later that day. James spent a long time closing up Drake's estate, and then went back to his apartment in Las Vegas.

He walked in the door and dropped his bag and looked around at the room he had hardly seen the previous six months. "I need a beer."

_

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I want to thank everyone who took the time to read this ridiculous, implausible, odd, warped fic. Posting this is so hard. It's like sending my baby off to college. I started this in my freshman year of highschool, in 2006, posted it in 2007, and have finally finished in 2010 as a senior about to graduate. I don't know whether to feel accomplished or pathetic, really ;)

Just want to let you know that this chapter topped off at more than 14,000 words. It's a good forty-six pages long.

I might write an epilogue of sorts to this, ten years in the future. (19 is too odd of a number). I have already partially written several stories that are AU of this one, such as 'what if Dumbledore had gotten custody', 'what if James had ended up with the Numb3rs team', 'what if James and Andron went to Hogwarts at 11', and (because of my evil, evil beta) 'what if James and Andron joined SG-1'. These can be blamed for chapters of Prodigy taking so long, I suppose.

Once more, thank you all for reading, and I hope you all win the lottery. Unless you live in California, because that shit is mine, bitches! : )

ChipmonkOnSpeed


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